Authors: K. J. Cazel
Identity (17 page)
Tom and Steve sat at their respective desks going over case files…something they each hated to do, but each were looking for clues they may have missed in solving the open case homicides. Other detectives and officers came and went through the squad room each with their own problems on their minds.
The captain came out of his office and approached Tom.
“We have another body on the 1300 block of Belmont. From the report, it looks like another prostitute. Check it out and see if there is a connection with Nolan’s case.”
Tom gave Steve a nod while he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. The two detectives left the squad room taking the elevator to the garage.
“Your car or mine?” Steve asked.
“You drove last time.”
The two walked to the precinct garage taking Clark to Belmont. Tom reached to the side panel of his car and put the flashing light on the hood, an effect for other cars to move to the side. Within minutes they were at the crime scene, but they certainly weren’t the first to arrive. The alleyway entrance was already yellow taped off. As Tom pulled his vehicle to a stop, the Crime Scene Investigator Van pulled up. Steve and Tom scanned the scene to see if there was any face in the crowd who may know more. What they saw were cell phones popping open and trying to capture pictures of the crime scene.
Tom got out of his car and lifted up the tape. He and Steve walked down the alleyway to the where the victim was lying. The Crime Scene Investigator opened his white case and took out the tools of his profession. As he was inspecting the body of the young woman, Tom watched as Steve took information from the officer who first arrived at the scene
.
Tom watched the investigator who took a body reading to determine the time of death. “Well?”
“I’d say she been dead for at least six hours.”
When the investigator turned the body over, the victim’s right inside wrist was exposed. The tattoo read: Ἀπόλλωνος
Tom called out to Steve to join him at the victim’s side.
“Any idea?” Tom questioned Steve.
“Not a clue. Why not take a picture and see what the university language department says?”
“Cute. That means I have to take a picture with my phone. You guys are going to drag me into the 21st Century.” Tom opened his phone and scrolled to the application for snapping a picture of the tattoo.
“I’ll drop you off at the station. Check with Nolan to see if his victim had a similar tattoo.”
“Okay. I’ll also check with the coroner’s office to see if that tattoo has shown up on any other nameless women victims. I’ll meet you later.”
***
After dropping Steve off at the precinct, Tom took Lake Shore Drive to the 57th Street exit to get to the University of Chicago campus. He arrived shortly after noon. The student body was leaving many of their classes for lunch breaks. Tom hoped that someone would be available to direct him to where he might find an answer to his questions. He parked his car in the underground garage of the Administration Building. A young man was eager to help and hand drew a map to the Center for the Study of Languages. Tom took the map and followed the marked lines to the building he needed.
At the reception desk, an armed guard sat inspecting all
identification badges as students and visitors entered the building. Tom approached the guard.
“I’d like to speak to someone in foreign languages.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I cannot let you into the building without the proper identification.”
At that point, Tom pulled out his detective shield.
“I’d like to help you officer, but I’m afraid I can’t let you in. Let me call the front office and see if there is someone who can come out and speak with you.”
After a ten-minute wait, a dark-haired fiftyish woman came down the hall to greet Tom. The woman reminded Tom of a professor he had in Law School, a woman that was all business.
“Detective how can I help you?”
Tom took out his phone and scrolled to the picture album. He clicked on it and then turned the phone to the woman.
“I thought this was going to be something challenging. It is the Greek name for the Roman God Apollo.”
Tom arrived back at the precinct before their shift ended. Steve was standing next to Nolan and they were in a discussion comparing notes about the two victims.
“Gentlemen, what have we found out about these woman?”
Steve opened up his note pad and started reading the similarities of the two victims and began reading: “Besides each having the same tattoo on their wrist, preliminary examinations by the medical examiner concludes that both women were Eastern European, approximately the same age, with recent needle marks on their left arm. The drug tox screen for our victim won’t be available for a week, but the first victim died of an overdose.”
Tom addressed both Steve and Nolan, “No identification at all?”
Steve looked at Tom, “Nothing. What did you find out at the University?”
“That tattoo is the Greek word for ‘Apollo’, the Roman God.”
Steve looked at Nolan. A bystander would have been able to see their questioning faces, but Tom knew what was on his mind. ‘All roads lead to Rome.’
***
Detectives went back to their respective desks to clear up the day’s paperwork. When Steve finished he turned to Tom, “How about going out for a brewski?”
“Not tonight. I have some other paperwork I’d like to finish up.”
Tom continued working at his desk. When he finished, he picked up the paper he was working on and walked into the Captain’s office.
“Tom, what can I do for you?”
Tom handed him the paperwork. “I’d like you to honor my request for five days of vacation. I know it really puts a crimp in the scheduling, but I think it’s important.”
“Is there something I should be aware of?”
“No, it just something I have to do. It’s personal.”
“This does put us in a bind, but I’ll let you know tomorrow if I can change the schedule around.”
“Thank you sir.”
***
In the morning Steve arrived before Tom. When Tom arrived, Steve didn’t hesitate to charge at Tom with the question. “You’re taking five days off?”
“So.”
“Do you know what that means? It means I have Sloan to partner with while you’re gone!”
Tom gave a laughing smile to Steve. He had once been partnered with Sloan. He had a foul mouth and to make matters worse he continually smoked cigars.
“This isn’t funny! He’s good at his job, but he’s a pig. The Captain said your time off was personal. Does this have anything to do with Ginny?”
“Sorta. I’ll keep you informed on what I find out.”
***
It was Tuesday evening when Tom boarded the Alitalia plane to Rome, Italy. He took his first class seat. Fortunately no one was seated next to him, which gave him the opportunity to sleep. Five days wasn’t long enough to adjust to jet lag so any sleep would be helpful. Earlier he called Giovanni Marino, Chief Inspector of Polizia di Stato. Although he hadn’t talked to him directly, he was able to leave a message that he was arriving Wednesday afternoon and would like to meet with him.
When Tom stepped off the plane the Rome heat hit him. He forgot that Rome was much warmer than Chicago at this time of year. He grabbed his carry-on bag and went to the curb where he hailed a cab to take him to Polizia di Stato. It was more important to talk to the Inspector than to worry about a reserved room at the hotel. He could check in to his hotel after he spoke to Inspector Marino. This meeting could set the schedule for this trip.
Tom entered the police station and was greeted by the officer at the front desk. Tom presented his Chicago Detective Badge, knowing there was no practical use for it in Rome other than to, hopefully, open some doors faster.
The officer informed him that Inspector Marino was busy and directed Tom to the wooden captain chairs along the back wall. Tom looked at the large clock on the wall — 3:56 p.m. He picked up a magazine in the chair next to him. He flipped through the pages that were all in Italian. He couldn’t stop himself from checking the time on the clock. Twenty-five minutes later, Inspector Marino entered the room, stopping by at the desk before he greeted Tom.
Marino then strode over to Tom with an outstretched hand.
“Signore Cassell, welcome to Rome.”
“You received my message then?”
“Si, Si. Come to my office where we can talk.”
Tom followed Marino down a wood paneled corridor to the first office on the right. The glass panel in the door indicated Marino’s status by his name and title on the door.
“Please sit down. I am pleased you came.” Marino spoke in flawless English.
Tom took another wooden captain chair opposite Marino. “I’m here on personal business.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t bring the extradition papers for Naldo Rizzo?”
“I wish I could have. It seems the states and cities are in financial straights and bringing a prisoner from Italy to Chicago for trial is very timely and costly. Then, there is the issue that he killed a serial killer. I’m afraid the jury would be having too much sympathy and release him. Now, if he came to the states on his own and we were aware of that, we could execute an arrest warrant.”
“I understand. I am sorry to inform you that Signore Rizzo is no longer a prisoner here in Italy.”
“Now I don’t understand. I though Interpol provided you with the case against him in human trafficking.”
“Si. They do not, however, provide the funds to prosecute the case. Mr. Rizzo is a very influential person in Rome and in all of Italy. He travels in the correct political circles. A million lire here and there can insure one will not be prison.”
Tom took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair to process this new information.
“It seems I will have to try another venue to reach Rizzo. Do you have an address where I can find him.”
Marino reached in his top desk drawer and pulled out a folder. The top sheet of paper listed the Rizzo’s places of business and his homes throughout Italy.
He took the sheet to the copier in the corner and made a copy for Tom.
“I would recommend you start with the top address. If Signore Rizzo does come into Rome, he, according to my surveillance team, stops at this address.” He handed the list to Tom.
Tom looked at the sheet. There were over twelve stores and three homes around Italy, none of the homes with a Rome address. With another deep breath, Tom took the sheet and thanked Marino. As he left, he told Marino he would keep him informed and would appreciate it if Marino would do the same.
Tom left the police station with his carry on. Once outside he was able to hail a taxi. He directed the driver to the first address on the list. Inside the taxi he further studied the list Marino had given him. He doubted Rizzo would be at this address so late in the day, but he had to give it a try.
When they arrived, Tom paid his fare and stepped out of the taxi to stare at the window of Rizzo’s shop.
In the right hand corner of the window, the printed name “Naldo Rizzo, Owner” appeared. The little clock sign on the door indicated that the shop was still open. Before entering the shop, Tom took out his phone to take a picture of the window. He smiled. He was now thankful for Steve forcing him to use this technology. When Tom entered the shop, the bell above of the door sprang to life to let the proprietor aware of a customer. Within seconds a hunched over old man appeared at the counter wearing a wrinkled black suit. His appearance reminded Tom of something out of a movie. As he eyes scanned the shop and its poorly lit atmosphere, his detective mind told him that this was a front for another business.
With a heavy Italian accent, the little man asked, “How can I be of service to you?”
“I’d like to speak to your owner, Mr. Rizzo.”
“Ahh, Signore Rizzo is out of Rome today. Perhaps, there is something I can help you with?”
“Can you tell me when he will be returning to Rome?”
“If you leave me your name and phone number, when Signore Rizzo calls in I can let him know you would like to speak to him.”
“I’m only in Rome for a few days and it is important that I speak to him.”
The old man pushed a pad of paper and pencil that was lying on the counter toward Tom. Tom obliged and wrote down his name and cell number.
“Please, when you speak to Mr. Rizzo, could you express the urgency in the matter.”
“Si, Signore.”
Tom nodded his good-by and picked up his carry on and left the shop. It was a long shot, but he hoped that Rizzo would get back to him. In the meantime, he hailed a taxi and went to his hotel.
***
Before Tom left to enjoy one of Italian’s fine restaurants, he checked his watch. It was almost noon in Chicago. He punched in the numbers to contact Steve.
“Hi, Tom. How is sunny Italy?”
“You know it’s not really a vacation. I have a picture I want to send to you. Can you walk me though the steps.”
“It must be good if it can’t wait until you get back.”
“Yea, you’re not going to believe it.”
Steve went through the steps to send the picture of Rizzo’s storefront. Since both had the same cell phones it was easy for Tom to follow the directions. When it was done, Tom was amazed how simple this function was.
In seconds after the picture arrived on Steve’s cell phone, he immediately responded, “You got to be kidding me. This bastard is involved with these murders too!”
“Some way, somehow. Don’t know anything yet. Here’s the topper. He’s no longer in prison in Italy.”
“Your news just gets better and better. Why in the hell isn’t he in prison.”
“Money, politics. Take your pick.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“One of three homes throughout Italy. I left word at the store where I was today that I wanted to speak to him. We’ll see what happens. If I don’t hear from him, I won’t get any answers to my questions; but at least we have some answers about the murders in Chicago.”
“When you said ‘all roads lead to Rome’, I thought your were kidding. When is your flight back?”
“I should arrive Sunday. I’ll be back into the station on Monday for my shift. We can talk further then.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can find out more from Vice about the human trafficking in Chicago. Bye.”