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Justice Illinois is a small community just southwest of the Chicago city
limits. Surrounded by other small villages and towns it contributes to the cultural and economic diversity of greater Cook
County. Clusters of small homes huddle around the main business district centered along Archer Avenue. Most of the town is
squeezed between the Adlai Stevenson Expressway and the Tri-state Toll road.
Friday evening in Justice, Illinois was
warm and clear and the lake breeze was keeping the humidity far to the west. The parking lot of Scorchers was filled
with street rods old and new. Members of the unofficial area street racing club were milling around the cars and in and out
of the bar. No club initiation, president or dues were required. If you had a fast car and were looking for some competition,
you were welcome to hangout.
The lot was full when I pulled up in my pale yellow Mustang ragtop and parked at the
curb. I got plenty of looks and a few chuckles as I stepped out and smiled at the young men and women outside.
As
I opened my mouth to introduce myself, I was drowned out by the roar of two street rods racing off the light up the street.
Everyone outside turned to watch the race and several offered critiques on the cars involved. Several ten and twenty dollar
bills also changed owners as the race passed us and ended at the next light three blocks away.
"Hi, I'm Carl Kolchak.
I'm a reporter for the Independent News Service. Could I ask you a few questions about your group here?"
"Sure,
are you here because of what happened to Rudy", asked a young man with a blonde wispy beard.
"Well, yes and no. Did
you know Rudy well?"
"We all knew Rudy but not really well. He'd come by two or three times a week," answered the
young man. A few more people gathered around at the mention of Rudy's name.
"What are your names, and do you mind
if I put you in my story?" I asked, turning on my tape recorder, and even more racers gathered around.
"I'm Tom Groberski.
This is Dave Johnston, Shawn Fischer and that's Tina Barnes." he replied, indicating the group I had first walked up to.
"We
were all upset to hear about Rudy. I've never known him to get that drunk. I mean, he was always really careful with that
'Vette." said Tina.
"Was he drinking that night?" I asked, "I don't think he was drunk, not according to his autopsy."
"I, uh...just thought he was...he must have been. Wasn't he drunk?" Tina and her friends all looked at each other,
a little bit shocked. "I can't imagine any other reason for him to have lost control of his car like that. He was just such
a good driver."
"He wasn't that good a driver. I beat him every time we raced. That 'Vette of his was a dog." shouted
a young man off to the side. His friends snickered to each other.
"Shut up, Wayne, some of us will miss Rudy. More
than we'd ever miss you." answered Tina.
"Yeah, man. Keep your mouth shut. You don't even race anymore. Your braggin'
rights have expired." Dave Johnston said to Wayne.
Two more cars left the line up the street and roared past us. All
conversation came to a halt until the race was over.
"Friday is the only night there are this many races. A lot of
us don't race as often as we used to," offered Tom Groberski.
"Why is that? Gas prices too high?" I asked with a smile.
"No, too dangerous. Some of us would like to grow a little older. We've seen too many friends die lately." said Dave.
"I had heard that there have been other racers killed this year. Did they all spend time here, were they killed racing?"
I asked.
"Well let's see. John Bowers was the first, that was in April, I think." said Dave.
"No, John died
in late March, right up the street. Then came Steve Bertowicz in April, then Shawn's brother Ken two weeks ago." said Tina,
putting her arm around Shawn Fischer, who had kept quiet up until now, "then Rudy last night."
"Ken wasn't racing.
He was just driving home. He shouldn't have died. He must have been cut off, or something." said Shawn, who looked to be holding
back tears.
A young man dressed in a white shirt and black vest had come out of the bar to smoke a cigarette at the
curb. He had been listening to our conversation for the past few minutes. "All of the cars crashed right along Archer Avenue
here. Most of them up by the cemetery." he offered.
"Oh, hi Turk. This is Mr. Kolchak, he's a newspaper reporter."
Tina made the introductions.
"Hi Mr. Kolchak. I'm Howard Turkewicz. Call me Turk. I'm the disc jockey inside."
"Good
to meet you, Turk. I guess you've known most of the drivers that have been killed recently." I said.
"I've known them
all, Mr. Kolchak, and I've got a suspicion that all the accidents have a common cause. Have you ever heard of Resurrection
Mary, Mr. Kolchak?" Turk asked.
"Oh, come on, Turk" said Tom. "Don't bring up your crazy ghost story again."
Our
conversation was interrupted by an array of Justice Police cars that had suddenly materialized at the curb. Close to fifteen
squad cars had screeched to a stop in front of the bar, with two more taking off after the two street racers that had roared
past moments before. I knew we were looking at Justice's entire patrol shift, backed up by Cook County Sheriff's police and
a few squads from nearby towns.
A distinguished looking JPD watch commander stepped out of his squad and walked into
the bar. Dozens of officers surrounded the parking lot, including the vehicles and us. A crowd of patrons came charging out
of the bar, which apparently was closing early. Next the watch commander came out and announced that a little known city noise
ordinance was being enforced and all vehicles and persons would need to leave the area immediately. Sobriety tests were being
conducted on those who looked unable to drive themselves home.
Several officers now moved towards my little group
sweeping us towards our cars and clearing the sidewalk. I decided this would be a good time to get to know local law enforcement
and asked to speak with the watch commander.
I introduced myself to Cmdr. Kunzel of the Justice Police Department.
"Is the closing of this bar tonight in any way connected to the recent fatal accidents outside the gates of Resurrection Cemetery?"
"Mr. Kolchak," he replied, "the Justice Police Department is responding to an escalating problem of reckless driving
in this neighborhood. Driving that happens to be centered on this establishment. We have received many complaints concerning
the speeding autos and loud engines associated with this group of auto enthusiasts. The fact that we have recently investigated
several fatal crashes where the drivers involved were going home after an evening at this club only underscores the need for
such enforcement."
"Thank you, Commander. And that didn't at all sound like a prepared statement." I chuckled. "How
many reports per month, on average, does your department get of sightings of Resurrection Mary?"
He puffed out his
chest and looked down at me over his bushy grey mustache. "Resurrection Mary, Mr. Kolchak, is folklore. A work of fiction
and overactive imaginations. And like any myth, becomes more or less popular according to the whims of the public. If you
print an article about her, I promise you, I"ll be knee deep in sightings by the end of next week.
"I'll take that
into account, commander, but I seem to run into Resurrection Mary around every corner. Several people that I've interviewed
recently brought her up as a possible cause of these deaths. For a mythical figure, she sure seems to be on a lot of people's
minds."
"Well sir, you brought her up to me. I certainly would not have mentioned her first. Please take this opportunity
to move your vehicle, so we can wrap up this incident. Thank you, Mr. Kolchak." and with that Kunzel turned and walked back
to the bar to confer with his officers.
I pulled away from the Scorchers area and drove through the neighborhood
hoping to spot some of the patrons I'd been speaking to, especially Howard Turkewicz, the disc jockey. I was just giving up
and heading for home when I heard the first sirens.
Dave Johnston had left the Scorchers area about the same
time I did and aimed his 1972 Dodge Charger south on Archer. He was slowing down to stop at 75th when he though he saw a female
figure standing at the corner. He rubbed his eyes and looked back, chuckling at what he thought he saw. The figure dressed
in white was gone.
The light turned green and Dave pulled away slowly. Oncoming headlights illuminated a figure in
the street, half a block away. As Dave closed the distance, he clearly saw a slender female figure dressed in white directly
in front of his car. He slowed as he approached her. She was slowly walking across the street with her head down. The figure
made it to the curb as Dave slowly drove past her. She stepped onto the curb and Dave checked his rearview mirror after he'd
passed but couldn't see her in the gloom. Dave noticed he had a death-grip on the steering wheel and chuckled to himself as
he tried to relax.
Taking the next right turn onto 79th, he noticed a figure standing along the curb under the glow
of an overhead streetlight. Dave couldn't help staring at the slender girl dressed in white who looked exactly like the girl
he'd already seen twice before. This time the girl looked up to meet his gaze as he drove past.
The girl's eyes were
like empty black pits in her lovely face.
Dave broke away from staring at the girl and looked forward just in time
to see the body lying in the roadway. He stood on his brakes and the crumpled body dressed in white disappeared out of sight
under his bumper. Dave put his car in park and got out of the Dodge. He was shaking visibly as he walked around the car and
looked underneath. There was no body there.
Dave didn't want to get back behind the wheel in the nervous condition
he was in. He looked up and down the empty street and suddenly didn't want to be standing outside his car either.
Dave
climbed back into his Charger and let out the clutch. He roared down the street as he climbed through the gears. He didn't
see as much as sense the girl sitting next to him in the car. He could tell without looking to his right that the figure in
his passenger seat was dressed in white. The dress lit up the dark interior as the car passed through each pool of illumination
thrown by the overhead streetlights. Dave forced his eyes to stay on the road and to concentrate on his driving, thinking
the figure would disappear if he just ignored her, but shaking with fear anyway.
Dave could tell the figure next to
him had shifted position and was bringing its face closer to his own. Dave was perspiring and starting to whimper as he sensed
the face was inches away and staring intently at him.
Dave was already screaming as he turned to look into the face
with its black void eyes.
The Charger crossed over the centerline of 79th street and hit a parked station wagon. The
impact pushed the wagon onto the curb and started the Charger spinning around. After spinning twice, the front tires dug in
and the Charger started rolling. Dave Johnston was ejected and landed headfirst onto the pavement, dying instantly.
The
Justice Police were already responding to the area for the report of the erratic driver and were on the scene shortly after
the crash. I got there along with the backup units, whose sirens I had heard.
I knew instantly that the victim was
one from the group of people I had talked to earlier.
I was quickly backed away from the crash scene to stand with
a group of spectators who had gathered. Most of the faces I recognized from being part of the crowd ousted from Scorchers
earlier. I spoke briefly to one of the patrolmen assigned to keep us away.
"Officer, was the victim the only occupant
of the car?" I asked.
"It looks that way, sir," he replied, "We were on the scene pretty quickly after the crash."
"I guess this death won't be linked to the other fatal accidents that happened around the cemetery, huh?" I commented.
"How's that, sir?" he asked.
"Well you've had four drivers killed recently just outside the gates of Resurrection
Cemetery. This crash kind of breaks that unlucky streak." I told the patrolman.
"Do you see that wall over there?"
he asked, pointing to a block long windowless building that stretched along the north side of the street. "Those are mausoleums,
you're looking at the south border of Resurrection Cemetery. We're right outside, sir."
I knew then that my investigation
into these deaths had just begun.
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