Relentless Enemy

1UNSEEN, UNCONSCIOUS, AND UNHARMED Chicago, Illinois: 1982 It was past midnight. The small boy stood at the top landing of the staircase, his body rigid, his trembling hands clutching the wooden posts of the railing. He was listening to the adults in the living room below, their hushed voices changing in cadence. “Does he know? Did he see? Oh, dear Lord, I can only imagine what it would’ve been like for him.” Judy Walsh’s words came in fits and starts. Slouched in an easy chair, staring at the living room carpet, her husband, Jim, held his forehead in his hands. “I don’t know, Judy. I just don’t know. I convinced the sheriff to let me get Craig the hell out of there before it became a circus.” Jim looked up at his wife. “We both know how Andy was. I wouldn’t think that guy could have an enemy in this world.” He looked down at the carpet again. “There was absolutely no reason for this.” A seasoned police officer, Jim had seen his share of shocking crime scenes, but nothing had prepared him for what he’d seen several hours earlier. His brother-in-law, Andrew Henriksen, had been murdered inside the Lutheran church he led in Cedar Township, Iowa. It was unlike any crime scene Jim had seen before. Andrew had been mutilated, slashed, and bludgeoned in a fashion that had shocked even the most hardened police investigators. The crime had occurred as Andrew’s only son, Craig, lay apparently unconscious on one of the pews. The ten-year-old child was unharmed. It wasn’t clear, either to those who initially found Andrew or to Jim once he arrived on the scene, whether the boy had witnessed any of the c*****e that unfolded. This was the same child who now clutched the upstairs railing of the Walshes’ modest three-bedroom home in suburban Chicago. He was listening, trying to understand his aunt and uncle’s discussion. Judy sobbed quietly. “In a way, I’m glad my sister isn’t alive—I wouldn’t want her to see this. It’s awful, Jim, just awful.” Judy Walsh was normally straightforward and matter-of-fact, not prone to exceptional displays of emotion. A sandy-haired woman of average height and build, she was always neat and measured in her appearance. But the news of her brother-in-law’s violent death had caused her to come undone in these early morning hours. Jim was trying to think of what to do next, to think of anything else he could to get the images of the crime out of his head. “What now, Judy? What is this kid supposed to do now? Jesus, he’s only ten years old.” Jim asked the question aloud, but inside he knew full well how his wife would reply. “He’s got to stay with us, Jim.” Now her voice was calm, steady, and determined. “We’re the only family he’s got now.” It had been just Craig and his father since Judy’s sister died four years earlier from an aggressive form of cancer. Since then, Craig and his father had been nearly inseparable. Andrew ministered to the residents of their small community and was highly regarded and trusted by all. It was a kind of throwback to the days when a minister was truly involved with the members of the church. It wasn’t uncommon to find Andrew at dinner with a different member of his congregation each week, always with Craig by his side. Craig was old enough to see the connection his father made with the members of their community. The congregation thought the world of their minister and constantly sought him out for advice and counsel on their concerns. Craig adored his father, and he seemed to understand, even at such a young age, the positive influence his father had on the lives of others. This is what made the event the Walshes were discussing that much more unbelievable. The Andy Henriksen they had known had been a devoted husband and a kind and giving person. But somehow, just hours earlier, either through random violence or calculated hate, a murderer had ended his life. Jim didn’t respond to Judy about Craig needing to stay with them. He knew that she was right, that Craig staying with them was the most logical course of action. But he refrained, knowing that his confidence and experience was in crime and police work. On matters of family and children, Jim knew his wife was the authority. Breaking the silence, Judy went on. “So, are the police going to need to take more statements from Craig, or try to get him to remember something about the killer?” “I think I got them to understand that if the time comes when Craig can remember anything about the killer, we would work something out. That is, if they can find the guy.” “Which makes it even more important that he’s here with us in Chicago, and not anywhere near Cedar Township,” Judy quickly added. “He could be in danger there.” Jim’s eyes swept up and locked with those of his wife, both understanding the common ground they had just reached. Judy knew in her heart that the boy should be with the only remaining family he had. Jim understood that Craig needed to be protected, far away from Iowa, and with a family whose experience was rooted in protection, lest the crime prove to have been calculated, not random. Jim returned his gaze to the carpet. As much as Judy tried, she couldn’t dispel the shock she was feeling. “Jim,” she started slowly and deliberately as she gathered her courage, “tell me exactly how he died.” She covered her mouth as she waited for her husband to answer. Jim’s mind drifted back to when he arrived at the crime scene. He remembered the startled expressions on the deputies’ faces. Craig’s father, Andrew, was lying facedown in a pool of blood. Two deep puncture wounds that Jim saw on Andrew’s back were what he presumed had been fatal. Jim again felt a rush of shock fill his chest as he recalled a deputy lifting up the side of the body. The state of the face and chest was shocking. The face was bludgeoned. The chest looked equally horrific. The place where a white T-shirt had covered the torso was unrecognizable. Only the staining of blood and a chest cavity having been hollowed out through repeated slashing and stab wounds remained. Never had Jim seen anything like it at a crime scene before. “Judy . . .” Jim started, trying not to relent. He met his wife’s eyes again as she stood in front of him, her expression unchanged, awaiting his reply. Jim dropped his head. “It was almost like an animal attacked him. He’d been slashed and beaten. His skin”—Jim took a long, slow breath—“his skin looked like it’d been ripped off in places.” “Could it have been some animal, some . . . thing?” Judy asked. “No.” Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, a man did this. He had to have been powerful and determined.” Jim was clearly rattled to a degree that belied the nature of his profession. A homicide detective for several years with the Chicago Police Department, he was an imposing man, nearly six foot four. His hair was cut very short in a military style, and he had a square, rugged jawline that matched his personality. He was normally serious, dispassionate, and to the point. That had changed when he received a call early in the afternoon at his Chicago precinct from the sheriff in Cedar Township, reaching out to the next of kin. The sheriff knew Andrew Henriksen well, and he knew that Andrew was related by marriage to a Chicago detective. As he sat in a chair in his living room late that evening, Jim was now trying to recount for Judy the scene with which he was met when he arrived in town. Andrew Henriksen had been attacked near the front altar of his church. There were signs of a struggle, but no evidence of a weapon or device that had been used to kill him. Andrews’s body was being photographed by a sheriff’s deputy. When he witnessed the state of Andy’s body, Jim was startled to the point of nearly losing his balance. While at the crime scene, he learned that the first responders had found Craig unconscious on a pew near the front of the church. Several pews had been upended, possibly during the significant struggle, covering the one where Craig had been lying, possibly obscuring him from view. When he regained consciousness, the police on the scene took the boy out of the main sanctuary, away from his father’s body. As Jim described the events at the church, tears began to slowly roll down Judy’s cheeks again. “Okay, Jim. That’s enough.” She tried to regain her composure before continuing. “But how, Jim? How is that little boy upstairs right now, not a hair on his head having been harmed? How can you explain that?” “I don’t know, dammit!” Jim’s voice was loud as he shot an impatient stare at his wife. He quickly glanced toward the second floor before recovering and lowering his tone. “I don’t know, Judy. It doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you. All I know is that if he’s going to stay with u—if that’s what you’re saying—he’s going to have issues. You and I need to be sure what we’re signing up for. Are we?” His question was half to state the obvious, half to test Judy’s resolve. “You know as well as me, Jim, that Andrew’s parents died when he was young too. There’s no one Craig can go to. No relatives he really knows like he knows us. We’ve got to be here for him, Jim. Danny can help too.” She looked up toward the bedrooms upstairs. “I know they’re not real close, but this will be their chance.” She fixed her eyes on her husband again. “We’ve got to be there for him.” Upstairs, clinging to the railing, Craig could only assemble bits and pieces of the conversation. His father was gone, that much he understood. He had died in a tragic way that seemed to alarm an uncle that Craig had only known to be steady. It was also clear to Craig that he was now left completely alone. Alone, except for the relatives in whose home he now took shelter. “Sounds like something bad’s going on, huh?” Danny Walsh appeared behind Craig, having emerged from his bedroom groggy and tired. Startled, Craig spun around, clutching his shirt and gasping heavily. “Relax, Craig, relax. I didn’t even know you were here until Dad’s voice woke me up. What the heck’s going on, anyway?” “My dad . . . ” Craig started, almost panting. “He died. I mean, somebody hurt him. I mean . . . ” The young boy was searching for words, his eyes growing bigger as reality became more and more clear in his mind. “He’s dead, Danny.” “What? Jeez, are you sure? What the . . . holy crap.” Danny stood in stunned silence. While he’d seemed physically calm up to that point, Craig now began to shudder, his eyes wide as saucers. Danny was twelve years old, big for his age, and observant. While he didn’t quite understand exactly what had happened, why, or when, he realized immediately that Craig was in some kind of shock. “It doesn’t make sense, man. Your dad, I mean, he’s a good guy. Who would want to mess with him? Do you know who did it? Were you there?” Now Danny seemed oblivious to Craig’s trauma as his intense curiosity rushed out in a series of questions. Craig squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. “Danny, I . . . don’t know . . . I didn’t see . . . ” His voice trailed off. He was shivering all over now. “Hold on—just calm down. It’s cool.” Danny said, moving closer and patting his arm, trying to reassure the younger boy. “Craig, I’ll help you figure this out. It’ll be okay. I’m sure that things seem crazy right now, but you’re safe. You know Dad’s a cop. It’ll be safe here. I’ll help you out,” he said, “Don’t worry, man. I’ll help you out.”