Silence the Dead Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Jack Fredrickson

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Visitation

  Book I: Her Story

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Book II: Ridl’s Story

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Book III: The Mayor’s Story

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Fifty-Eight

  Fifty-Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-One

  Sixty-Two

  Sixty-Three

  Sixty-Four

  Sixty-Five

  Sixty-Six

  Sixty-Seven

  Sixty-Eight

  Sixty-Nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-One

  Seventy-Two

  Seventy-Three

  Book IV: Independence

  Seventy-Four

  Seventy-Five

  Seventy-Six

  Seventy-Seven

  Seventy-Eight

  Seventy-Nine

  Eighty

  Eighty-One

  Eighty-Two

  Recent Titles by Jack Fredrickson

  The Dek Elstrom Mysteries

  A SAFE PLACE FOR DYING

  HONESTLY DEAREST, YOU’RE DEAD

  HUNTING SWEETIE ROSE

  THE DEAD CALLER FROM CHICAGO

  Other Titles

  SILENCE THE DEAD *

  * available from Severn House

  SILENCE THE DEAD

  Jack Fredrickson

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2014

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published 2015 in Great

  Britain and the USA by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2014 by Jack Fredrickson

  The right of Jack Fredrickson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Fredrickson, Jack author.

  Silence the dead.

  1. Murder–Investigation–Illinois–Fiction. 2. Cold

  cases (Criminal investigation)–Fiction. 3. Detective and

  mystery stories.

  I. Title

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8435-0 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-543-8 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-589-5 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  As always, for always,

  For Susan

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is said that truth is sometimes best told through fiction.

  Mary Jane Reed was born on November 15, 1930. She died on June 25, 26, 27, 28, or 29, 1948.

  It was Ted Gregory’s reporting in the Chicago Tribune that began, for me, a search for the sense in two long-forgotten unsolved murders, an aftermath that reverberates to this day, and one mayor’s relentless quest for justice. Dare we let our nation’s newspapers struggle, really?

  It was Mayor Mike Arians’s story, of course, and the courage, tenacity, and patience he took to chase it, learn it, tell it, challenge it and defend it that became the truth behind much, but not all, of the fiction. It was Marge Craig’s story, and June Arians’s story, as well.

  Warren Reed gave me the trust to show the youngest child’s perspective of a family traumatized by murder, conspiracy, incompetence, and indifference.

  Patrick Riley, Mary Anne Bigane, and Joe Bigane read the draft and gave me the guidance to do better. Gaylord Villers corrected me about bullets, and Don Rowley set up a strange interview.

  John Silbersack showed me where to fix what was wrong.

  Kate Lyall-Grant gave me enthusiasm! Sara Porter gave me great edits.

  And Susan gave me encouragement, love and care to help me make this, as with everything else in my life, worthy.

  VISITATION

  Betty Jo Dean lay as she had for over thirty years, shrouded in black vinyl, forever seventeen.

  None of them – not the two gray-haired forensics people, the state’s attorney or the cops or even the bastards who’d long kept their fists on the lids in the town – dared breathe. The only sound came from the exhaust fan in the ceiling. It thrummed irregularly, loud then soft, rough then smooth, like a bad heart about to burst. As though it, too, feared what Betty Jo Dean was about to reveal.

  The doctor, a man of many such exhumations, bent over the stainless-steel table and unzipped the body bag.

  He froze. His assistant gasped, and dropped her metal probe to clatter on the cold tile floor.

  The mayor, disgraced and exiled to the back of the room, pushed through the wall of stunned cops and looked down.

  She wore only panties and a bra. No one had bothered to dress her. Her skin was mottled and gray.

  Except for the skull. It was polished and shiny and, unlike the rest of her, arrogantly devoid of flesh.

  And it was loose, wedged at the top of the bag like a grotesque afterthought, a thing casually tossed in. Its jaw had opened wide, as if screaming in outrage.

  The mayor had imagined all sorts of horrors, but not this. He spun in a fury to shout at the hating eyes of those he’d forced to pull her from the ground.

  ‘That’s not her head.’

  BOOK I: HER
STORY

  ONE

  Monday, June 21, 1982

  Her hands were too sweaty. The knob slipped away and the door slammed back, echoing a thunderclap through the dark, deserted town.

  She pressed back against the siding at the top of the stairs, clenching her fists to make her whole body stop shaking, and looked down. No surprise he wasn’t on the sidewalk; he didn’t like the light. He’d be somewhere else, invisible, making sure she walked straight home from the phone company.

  For a flit of a moment, she wanted please to believe he’d come to his senses over the weekend. Lord, she wanted that, but she couldn’t dare hope it.

  She touched her cheek. Though it was three nights since Friday, the bruise still throbbed. That was OK. The pain would give her courage to be strong. That, and pretending she was in a movie, and what she feared wasn’t really real.

  She stepped out of the shadow and into the light, slow and unafraid, like Kathleen Turner in Body Heat. Kathleen was purposeful. She’d had courage, even if it was for devilish purposes. Kathleen got what she needed because she didn’t let being afraid stop her.

  She took out her compact, mindful of the imaginary camera, and took her time inspecting her cheek. She’d sweated like a waterfall inside her operator cubicle all through her shift, maybe from the heat, more likely from the fear. All night long, she’d trembled.

  The powder was doing fine, covering the bruise. Likely Pauly wouldn’t notice, though maybe his noticing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  She’d called him two hours earlier. It was nervousness, but she needed to be sure he’d show up.

  ‘So, gorgeous, we’re still on for tonight?’ he said, right off.

  Relief calmed her like cool water. ‘Remember, I finish at ten,’ she said, careful to talk low so the biddies in the next cubicles wouldn’t hear.

  ‘The Constellation, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She’d chosen it because it was just across the highway and up Second Street, so close she could practically run to it. Then, somewhat theatrically, she whispered, ‘You might want to cancel, though.’

  ‘What?’ He sounded real concerned.

  ‘Things are a little unsettled for me right now,’ she said mysteriously. She’d decided it was only fair to give him a little warning.

  ‘Meaning what?’ he naturally asked.

  ‘Meaning I’m of interest to other men. One’s important. He thinks he owns me. There might be trouble if you come to Grand Point tonight.’

  ‘Old boyfriend?’

  ‘Not hardly – at least about the boyfriend part.’ Old was right on, though.

  ‘An older man? Don’t worry. I don’t get afraid,’ he said, in a most manly way.

  ‘Because you were a Marine, right?’

  ‘Semper Fi.’

  She did not as yet speak foreign languages, having quit high school for bigger things two years before, but she assumed he’d just said something reassuring. Absolutely, Pauly was a wonderful man.

  The biddy in the next cubicle had leaned back so she could eavesdrop better.

  ‘See you at the Constellation.’ She clicked off, relieved. Though this would be only their first real date, she was sure Pauly Pribilski was a confident man.

  That was two hours ago. Now, alone in the light at the top of the outside stairs, the comfort she’d felt was gone. The Important was somewhere down below.

  She moved to the edge of the stairs and hesitated again, knowing now she was exposed to the windows above the Red Wing shoe store across the street. Likely it was nerves that imagined them going black the instant she stepped outside. Doctor Romulous Farmont liked his perch above the shoe store for looking down on them all, but that time of evening he liked the darkness of the Hacienda better, sitting back against the wall with the rest of the Importants.

  She shuddered, remembering her time above the Red Wing just a few weeks before. Crazy afraid, she’d gone to the doc because he was the only doctor in Grand Point and she’d had to know. He’d drugged her a little, to calm her, he said, but not so she couldn’t feel his fingers, working. She’d wondered how much of that was necessary.

  An understandable concern after a minor indiscretion, he’d said in his fancy words, without asking who’d done the deed. If anything still developed, he’d take care of it. He would, too, without saying anything to anyone. He took care of things, especially for other Importants.

  There was no sense remembering that now. She took a deep breath and went down the stairs. Nothing would happen until she got to the highway and didn’t turn for home.

  Like always, the sidewalks were empty. The few cars parked at the curb belonged to the other phone operators. She hurried toward the corner, her footsteps clacking the cement loud enough for even the deaf to hear.

  Too soon, she was out from the safe shadows of the storefronts. To her left, the highway ran dark to the bridge. The moon was full, glinting off the river like a thousand eyes, waiting. But there were only two eyes likely to be watching to make sure she headed straight home.

  No, damn it, she said in her head. She was only seventeen. She was entitled to a proper date with a nice young man. She stepped off the curb.

  Headlamps appeared sudden in the east, speeding across the bridge toward her.

  She ran across the street before the lights could find her, and up into the trees on the courthouse lawn, their craggly old branches making welcoming long shadows to hide her. She ducked behind the biggest tree and stuck her head out enough to see.

  The headlights grew larger as the car got closer.

  Surely, it was him.

  TWO

  The Important had gone crazy dangerous the previous Friday night.

  She’d been walking home from her four-hour shift at the phone company, thinking for the thousandth time about the gorgeous young man she’d met the night before. Tall, broad shoulders, blond, he’d appeared at the Pepsi machine in the break room like a god. She’d quickly closed her Photoplay magazine, cover down, so he wouldn’t think she was shallow reading about movie stars, and gave him a semi-interested smile.

  It worked. He came over and sat down. She had only four minutes left on her break, but he was real charming and they talked for ten, about nothing and everything, until the supervisor found her and waved a bony finger. By then, Pauly Pribilsky said he’d drive her home after work.

  And that’s all it was. They talked in his car for maybe fifteen minutes, then they had a kiss – the one she’d been thinking about ever since.

  Walking home the next night, Friday, she’d been too lost in hoping Pauly would call over the weekend to pay any mind to anything else. She’d just passed the usual ruckus in the Hacienda parking lot when the Important had stepped out suddenly from the bushes to block her way.

  His face had been purple with anger, and something wet was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. ‘Got yourself a boyfriend?’ he’d said, all out of breath and sneery.

  ‘He’s just a boy from work—’

  ‘I know who he is,’ he’d said, interrupting rapid-fire, still breathing heavy. ‘Paulus Pribilski, Polish, lineman for the DeKalb-Peering. Lives up in Rockford. Hot shot, fancy car, likes to gamble too much.’

  Truly, the Important’s eyes were everywhere.

  ‘He’s someone my own age!’ she’d shouted, then instantly regretted it, because his face had puffed up like a kid holding his breath to not cry.

  ‘Look,’ she’d gone on, trying to be nice, ‘all’s you and I do is sneak off, and things went too—’

  ‘I know about you seeing Doc Farmont.’

  There was no hope to it. She’d been major flattered when he, an Important, had expressed an interest in her one night when she was walking home, almost in this very spot. A man like him could be exciting, and she was leaving Grand Point anyway, soon as she saved up enough for beautician school in Chicago. He was married, but that would add to the excitement. Except it didn’t. All he wanted was to sneak off.

  Now she’d
met Pauly Pribilsky and romance needed to blossom. Still, she wanted to be kind. ‘It can never be anything between us,’ she’d said, trying to smile.

  He’d slapped her hard across the face. ‘That’s for being unfaithful,’ he’d said, hissing like an animal.

  Her eyes had teared up so quick she hadn’t seen the second one coming before it slapped the numbness where the first had hit. ‘That’s for dressing so provocative.’

  She’d backed up but not fast enough.

  He’d hit her a third time. ‘And that’s to remind you to walk straight home after work. No car rides from anybody.’

  ‘Go to hell!’ she’d screamed, and ran off.

  It had taken her a block to realize that the Important wasn’t chasing. He didn’t need to. Grand Point was small and he was big. He could find her whenever he wanted.

  She’d waited fifteen minutes in front of her house for her breathing to get regular. Going in, she’d told her mother she’d run smack into a tree because she’d not been paying attention to her walking. She couldn’t tell the truth. Her parents were from the east side of the river – Pinktown people. They’d suffer if she weren’t careful. Importants controlled everything in Grand Point.