“Get anything?” I asked McGlade.
“Just an almost new bottle of baby oil.”
“No tape?”
“No tape. It’s not here, unless he’s hiding it in a body cavity. I’ll roll him over if you wanna check.”
I rubbed my eyes. Cops came, and paramedics.
“Probably a heart attack or a stroke,” said a uniform.
“More like a lot of strokes,” Harry said.
My cell rang. I went into the hallway to answer.
“Daniels.”
“Lieutenant? This is Gary Pludenza, Derrick Rushlo’s lawyer. Derrick would like to talk.”
“I won’t testify!” Rushlo screamed in the background.
“We need him to testify, Mr. Pludenza.”
“He won’t do it, but I think he might be able to help you anyway. Can you come here?”
“Where are you?”
He gave me his address, a house in the suburb of Naperville.
“How soon can you get here?”
“Gimme an hour.”
I hung up, heading for the elevator. McGlade nipped at my heels.
“You’re still going to sign the permission form, right? Jackie? I’ll be by in a couple of days, okay? Sorry this didn’t work out for you-”
The elevator doors closed, saving me from further pestering.
I took Delaware to Congress, and hopped on 290 heading west. Rush hour was in full effect, and the stop-and-go traffic was a perfect setting for inducing a panic attack. My heart rate doubled, my palms became slick, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek while my brain kept sending me still pictures, like a slide show, of every mistake I’d ever made over my whole life.
By the time I made it to Naperville, I was a wreck.
Pludenza’s house reeked of money. It sat in a cul-de-sac in a ritzy development, two stories high with four alabaster Doric columns supporting the roof overhang. The doorbell was hooked up to real bells.
“Thanks for coming, Lieutenant.” Pludenza looked about as agitated as I felt. He led me through a grand foyer, my short heels clicking on the terrazzo floor.
“Bankruptcies seem to be on the rise.”
“Hmm? Oh. My wife comes from money. It’s like living in the Taj Mahal. Derrick is in the den.”
The den was an expansive room with vaulted ceilings, black leather furniture, and a beautiful Prairie Wind pool table in colonial maple.
Derrick sat in an armchair, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Is he out yet?” he asked.
“Soon. Closing arguments are today. If you want to keep him locked up, you have to testify.”
His head shook violently.
“No. No testifying.”
“Then he’s going to get out, Derrick. And then he’ll come for you. He was a cop. He knows how to find people.”
Derrick began to hum, off-tune.
“Did you want something to drink, Lieutenant?”
I asked Pludenza for some coffee, and sat across from Rushlo.
“Derrick, we need to keep him in jail. Do you understand that?”
He nodded.
“I know that you’re scared. We can keep you safe. I promise. But you need to help us make sure he doesn’t get out.”
He nodded again.
“Tell me about Southern Illinois.”
His good eye locked on me.
“You know about Southern?”
“I know about you getting kicked out. I know that’s where you met Fuller. I know about the body you stole.”
“I took her out into the woods, where no one would see. He followed me and watched.”
I ventured a guess. “Fuller turned you in.”
Rushlo looked at me like I’d just grown donkey ears.
“Barry didn’t turn me in. He was the one that told me to do it. He understood.”
“How did you meet him?”
“He came up to me, after class. Wanted me to get him and some of his fraternity buddies into the morgue. For hazing week.”
“Did you let them?”
“No. I would have gotten kicked out of school. But for fun, I let them see my embalming book. The guys were making jokes, acting tough, because they didn’t want to admit being grossed out. But Barry was different. He seemed…”
“Interested?”
“More like aroused. Not by the embalming pages. By the reconstruction pages. He liked the trauma pictures. Extreme disfigurement. Stuff like that. So a week later, he came by again, alone. We got to talking. We have a lot in common, you know.”
Yeah, I thought. You’re both psychotic perverts.
“Were you helping Barry with disposals while in college?”
“No. That didn’t happen until I had to leave. During my internship, at the funeral home in Champaign-Urbana. We stayed in touch, and one day he calls me up and says, ‘Do you want a fresh one?’”
“A fresh corpse?”
“Yeah. He was still down at Southern. He told me she was untraceable, and he needed my help to get rid of her.”
“This was someone he’d killed?”
“Yeah. So I drove down to Southern to pick her up. He’d bloodied her up pretty good, but she was still warm.”
Derrick got a faraway look in his one eye; the other one always had a faraway look.
“You buried her in a closed casket with another body.”
He fixed both eyes on me, a first for him. “How did you know that?”
“Do you remember the names, Derrick?”
“The girl’s name was Melody. Such a pretty girl.”
“Melody Stephanopoulos?”
He nodded.
“How about the name of the person you buried her with?”
“Last name was Hernandez, I remember that. Skinny guy. Tongue cancer. Most of his jaw was gone. I put them both in the same coffin, planted them in Greenview Cemetery. It was a beautiful ceremony. Lots of flowers.”
I took out a pad and scribbled all of this down.
“How many others were there?”
“Kantner’s Funeral Home in Urbana didn’t have a crematorium. When I got a job in Chicago, it was much safer. I would still do an occasional two-for-one special, though, if I could get away with it. Cremation is such a waste. You might not believe this, but I think death is sacred. A funeral is a sacred ritual. I think everyone should have a wake, even if it isn’t your family kneeling at the casket.”
“How many, Derrick?”
“There were about eighteen women, total, over the last fifteen years. I buried nine of them.”
“You have names?”
He smiled shyly.
“Of course. I remember them all. Each and every one of them.”
“What if you didn’t have to testify? What if you just made a statement?”
That flipped the switch in Rushlo. “I won’t testify! You can’t make me testify!”
“Easy, Derrick. Calm down.”
“I won’t do it!”
“But you wouldn’t have to go to court. You could just…”
“I love him.”
Pludenza chose that moment to return with the coffee. He handed me a cup and saucer, a wince etched into his face.
“Derrick” – I tried to sound soothing – “Barry wants to kill you.”
“I can’t betray him like that. He understands me. He’s the only one that understands me. But I don’t need to make a statement. You can prove Barry killed those women.”
“How?”
“He likes to bite. All of the girls I buried had bite marks on them.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
