Chapter Three
Jim Dunbar entered the 15th Precinct squad room late. The pounding rain yesterday had stripped all the leaves off the trees, covering the sidewalks with an unstable carpet of uncollected compost. Add to that street trash and falling temperatures coating everything with ice to the mix and Jim had slipped and slid, but never fell down completely, thanks to Hank. To think he used to like winter.
"Dunbar," Marty called as he entered the squad room, "they got you a desk today. Did you kiss Sipowicz or something?"
"Russo, that is not a pretty picture," Clark said as he guided Jim to his temporary desk. "Coffee? John just made a fresh pot."
"Better make it a quick one, Jim. We've got to meet the Osbornes at 9 o'clock and the Willets right after." Marty sat on the corner of the desk and set Hank's water dish in front of Jim. "I collected this, this morning. So that's two outta three comfortable here."
"Quit complaining, Russo," Sipowicz voice cut through the conversation, "I could put you in the broom closet."
"Well, at least the closet would be empty, right, Irvin?"
"I suggest you watch your mouth." Andy growled as he dropped another folder in front of Jim. Again, it contained neatly Brailled copies of yesterday's reports. Jim didn't comment; he figured this was just the way Sipowicz worked.
The phone in front of Jones rang. He grabbed it and raised his hand to quiet the room around him.
"Uh huh, un huh, I got that." Baldwin covered the mouthpiece. "Another body, same MO." Jones turned his attention back to the phone. "Found behind Transfiguration Church on Mott."
"Back in our neighborhood," Russo said.
"Clark and Jones will cover this, you two head to the Osbornes. If we don't get DNA samples we can't identify those bodies. No arguments." Sipowicz turned back to his office.
"What a hard ass," bitched Marty.
As Jim ran his fingers over the papers in this morning's folder, he couldn't agree less.
Mr. Osborne took Marty up to his son's bedroom, hoping they could find a toothbrush or comb, something that would have Jeff's DNA. Jim sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Osborne, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, gently questioning her.
"Jeff and Carl were nice boys. They loved each other. I might have wished things were different, but you couldn't help but like Carl Willets." Jim heard her coffee cup tremble against the table. Carefully he reached across and found her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He didn't have a dog, like you do, said it was too much responsibility for him alone. I think Jeff would have convinced him to get one, though. I remember Jeff telling me it was the real thing, him and Carl."
"Did they ever talk about leaving town? I mean, sometimes things aren't easy for a young, gay couple."
"Detective," Jim could hear Mrs. Osborne smile, "my husband's older brother is gay and has lived with his partner for the past 35 years. We've never been anything but truthful to our children about this and when Jeff came out we supported him. Still, we all know it isn't easy to be different. I think that's why the boys knew they had a place here where they could crash when things got tough."
"Jenny, did you know about these?" Mr. Osborne came into the kitchen and placed a bundle on the table in front of Dunbar.
"Letters? Cy, I've never seen them before in my life!" She reached for them but Russo stopped her.
"Your husband has given them to us for the time being, Mrs. Osborne, as possible evidence in the case. We'll want to check them for fingerprints."
"Oh, yes, how silly of me, I see this all the time on television, about contaminating the evidence. You do what you think is best. Did you find everything you need?" Jenny Osborne's voice cracked as she spoke.
"I believe we have. We'll be heading to the Willets now, is there anything you might want to add before we go?" Marty could be tact itself, when he had to.
"Only that the Willets loved Jeffrey as much as we loved Carl." She added, "and I pray that they're still alive and somewhere warm rather than…"
"We understand, Mrs. Osborne, Mr. Osborne. We'll get back to you as soon as we can.
Ready, Dunbar?" Marty opened the door for Jim.
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Osborne." Jim reached for Hank's harness and left with for the next meeting.
"Jim, we got two toothbrushes, probably both vics, and a nice pile of hate mail to go to forensics."
"There's a lot of anti-gay sentiment out there." Jim said as he settled Hank into the back seat of the car.
"These aren't anti-gay, they're anti-blind."
Jerome Willets lead Jim and Marty to his son's room.
"This is a very tidy place." Marty admired the small room. "I wish my boy was this neat."
"Carl had to be," Mr. Willets replied. "When you are blind you have to know where everything is or you lose it. Right, Detective Dunbar? My boy didn't like losing his things or crashing into doors, so it was always neat. Good thing we're Dutch, we have that reputation, you know."
"When was Carl here last?" Jim asked.
"It was the 30th of October. He and Jeffrey were volunteering at the Trevor Helpline that night. They should have been back by 1 am. They never came home."
"Did you know if Carl had problems with hate mail or internet spam?"
"There was someone bothering him. Someone was being very evil; calling him names, said there was no place for him in this world."
"Because he was gay?"
"Because he was blind." Willets sat down on his son's bed. "My father used to tell me stories about when he was a boy in Amsterdam. The Nazi's came and rounded up the imperfect ones, the Jews, the homosexuals, the gypsies and the handicapped. He would talk about his brother, Carl. Carl was what the used to call a mongoloid and now call a Down's syndrome child. The Nazis took him right off the street. Uncle Carl had a job and didn't bother anybody but he wasn't perfect so he was eliminated. When my Carl was born, he was blind from the start. So many operations and none of them worked. I
named him Carl so my Father would be happy, so my Uncle would be remembered. I didn't think my Carl would be grabbed off the street, too."
"We'll do our best for your son," Jim said to the grieving man.
"Just find him. If he is that poor soul you have, I want to bury him beside my father. He never knew where his brother lay; I want his grandson to lie beside him." Willets jumped up and grabbed Jim's hand. "You, be careful. I'll give you the letters my boy got. They're so evil, spreading those evil Nazi lies about imperfect people. Don't let them get you, Detective Dunbar."
"Detective Dunbar is pretty good at taking care of himself, Mr. Willets. Until we find this guy we'll make sure we keep careful track of him, too."
Jim kept quiet until they got into the car. "You're gonna take care of me?"
"Listen, Dunbar, we're partners for the time being and that means I got your back. Besides, Hank here is probably scarier than you and I put together."
Let's get back to the precinct… you can read those letters to me." Jim removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Not these ones, Jimbo. These are all in Braille."