Dead Renegade Page 5

  “The way I see it,” said Bobby, spreading his hands as if he had a map laid out in front of him, “Loon Lake’s got a female cop and that by my standards makes for easy pickings.” A spider laugh. “Ron, you and me, we got work to do. I’ll show you how to double the dough you’ve been making breaking your butt with all that logging—”

  Kenny felt an urgent need to leave the room. Leave now or you’re an accomplice, he told himself.

  “Speaking of logging,” said Ron, straightening up in his chair and motioning with his hand for Kenny to join the conversation, “Kenny and I got a … dilemma … we’d like to discuss with you. Gotta problem with this joker by the name of Calverson …”

  “Yeah? Hold that thought—gotta see a man about a horse,” said Bobby, getting to his feet. Ron had relaxed into the chair next to Kenny with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. As Bobby walked by, he gave his brother’s feet a swift kick with the toe of one pointed cowboy boot.

  Kenny could see from Ron’s face that the kick both hurt and embarrassed him in front of Kenny. Ron squinted as he rubbed an ankle. He stared at the bathroom door until it closed, then said in voice that sounded like a curse: “Welcome home, big brother.”

  Minutes later, with Bobby back on the sofa twisting the cap off another beer, Ron recounted their morning confrontation with Curt Calverson. “So?” Bobby rolled a toothpick across his lips as he mulled over Ron’s story. “Whaddya want exactly—the money? Or hurt the guy?”

  “Both,” said Ron.

  “Just the money,” said Kenny. “No trouble.”

  “Ah,” said Bobby, “no trouble, no fun.”

  Kenny shook his head and said, “Count me out, you two. All I want is to get paid for the work I did. I’ll take fifty cents on the buck.”

  Bobby laughed, “No, you won’t. You’ll get a hundred percent of what you’re owed. Leave it to me. Now I’ll tell you what, you two. Give me a couple a days. Gotta check in with some guys I know. Kenny, don’t you worry.” Bobby shook an index finger at him. “I did eight years and don’t plan to do a day more. You’re talkin’ to a smart guy.”

  “Just keep me out of it if you got trouble in mind,” said Kenny, repeating himself as he got to his feet. “Gotta go, fellas, got dogs to feed.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Osborne pulled to the curb behind the police cruiser parked in front of the Nystrom Antiques Emporium. A “Closed” sign hung at an angle on the front door, which was locked. Osborne rapped twice but no one came. He peered past the sign, but the interior of the shop was in shadow.

  Remembering that Bart’s office was in the back, he hurried down the sidewalk that ran along the side of the building towards a back entrance. That door was open. Without knocking, he stepped inside what must have been a back porch before the house was converted to a store. Now it was a storeroom for cleaning supplies. A door at the top of a short stairway opened into a small kitchen that held a coffee machine and an old refrigerator. “He-l-l-o-o, Chief Ferris? Bart?” said Osborne in a loud voice.

  No answer. He walked through the kitchen to the shop’s interior. Off to the right was a hallway at the end of which he could see Bart’s office. The lights were on in the office but the room was empty.

  It dawned on Osborne they must be in the basement. Turning around, he walked back down the hall and into the darkened shop. The door to the basement stairs stood open and beyond it he could see light. “Chief Ferris? Bart?” Just as he called out, Lew dashed up the basement stairs.

  “Doc, thanks goodness you’re here. Boy, do I need your help this afternoon. Pecore was called down to Madison this morning. They’re re-opening a rape case from 1988 for DNA testing, and he had to drive the evidence boxes down.

  “Let me re-phrase that—the idiot isn’t sure which is the right box, so he’s taking everything he’s got from 1988 and hoping the crime lab officials don’t notice how he’s compromised the integrity of the Loon Lake Police Department with his lousy attention to the chain of custody. If I’m lucky, they won’t be fooled and he’ll be suspended for—”

  Lew’s face was flushed, her eyes sparking with frustration as she rushed her words. Under normal circumstances, Osborne would have relished the moment: every time he saw her coming towards him, it felt like the first time. The lively face, nut brown from the sun under a cap of short dark curls, the eyes frank, the mouth quick to smile. And the body—she wasn’t a small woman, but broad-shouldered and slightly wide in the hip with a frame that was strong and fit. Yet sturdy as Lewellyn Ferris might appear, she had a body that could curve soft as a whisper into his.

  But these were not normal circumstances and all he could see beyond his worry was hope that Lew could help him help Mason.

  He felt himself listening from a distance as Lew said, “—I’ve got another meeting at three and I’m trying like the dickens to get out of the office by four-thirty so I have time to shower and change before catching up with the reunion crowd. But, Doc, what you found here is disturbing. And you’re right—we have a victim, not some museum piece.

  “Did you notice the tag on that rug said it came from the Bobcat Inn?”

  Lew’s eyes widened with excitement and she spoke so fast Osborne couldn’t get a word in. “That was old Abner Conjurski’s place. He disappeared long before I joined the force, but I’ve seen the file. The Loon Lake police never did know what happened.”

  Planting both hands on her hips, Lew said, “I have to wonder if those aren’t poor old Abner’s remains down there. Y’know? So, Doc, I’ll call the Wausau Crime Lab and let them know it’s not an emergency but we need their help as soon as they can work us in. Meanwhile, I’m deputizing you to secure the scene better than what we’ve got right now and arrange to meet—”

  “No.” Osborne put up a hand to stop her. “No, Lewellyn. I … leant do that.”

  Lew paused, her mouth open in surprise. Her eyes searched his face, “What’s wrong? Oh … Doc, you look like someone died. What is it—are you alright?” She held her breath and reached out to take his arm as if expecting to hear the worst.

  Osborne couldn’t speak. He shook his head and tried to get a few words out but all he could manage was a choked, “Um, Mason. I think she may have been …” His voice was a whisper as he managed to say, “… molested. This morning.”

  “Oh-h, no,” said Lew, exhaling the words. The distress that flooded her face he hoped never to see again in his lifetime. “Is she hurt?”

  “I—I, that’s what—I don’t know. That’s why … Lew, I need your help.” He could feel his eyes brimming.

  “Bart!” Lew turned to shout down the stairwell. “I have an emergency. I’m taking over your office. Door closed. Not sure how long.” She grabbed Osborne’s left hand and pulled him back through the shop to the small office where she closed the door, pulled two chairs together and motioned for him to sit.

  “Wait,” she held up one hand as he started to speak and reached for the cell phone she wore in a holster next to the .9mm Sig Sauer. “Marlene, cancel that three o’clock appointment I have, would you, please? It’s another one of those probation reviews, and they’ll have to reschedule. Tell them I have a felony assault to deal with and I’ll be in touch when I can.”

  Lew tucked the phone away, turned her chair so she was facing Osborne, took both his hands in hers and eyes fixed on his said, “Tell me what you know. Take your time. First, though, where’s Mason now?”

  “She’s home, she seems okay but she won’t tell us—”

  “I’m not surprised. Children often have a hard time telling what happened when they’ve been badly frightened.”

  “That’s what Mallory said—”

  “Start at the beginning, Doc …”

  “We have twenty-three registered sex offenders in and around Loon Lake,” Lew said when he had finished sharing every detail that he knew or suspected since talking to C.J. Calverson and spotting Bobby Schradtke’s car. “I can have a status report run on where each of
those individuals were this morning. They are required by law to keep us informed of their whereabouts at all times.”

  “Twenty-three! I had no idea. Do you regularly alert people to these offenders?”

  “We try to keep parents aware, but sex offenders are under the sheriff’s jurisdiction, not the police department’s. We have to follow their lead. Now tell me who this C.J. person is.”

  “She’s new to Loon Lake—young, maybe in her twenties—and recently married to an older guy named Curt Calverson. I’ve never met the man. Erin seemed to know who he is. They bought that big house kiddie corner from Court House and they have a lake home on Big Moccasin. Once she calmed Mason down, Mason seemed to trust her. She offered to take myself and Mason out fishing on their pontoon this afternoon. She and I and Erin—we were thinking that if we could get her mind off things for a while that she might open up.

  “Now, Lew, I haven’t said a word to Erin about my concern that Mason may have been molested. Didn’t occur to me until I happened to drive by Edna Schradtke’s place and saw that old car that belongs to her son, Bobby. That worthless piece of shit is back in town and, Lew, that creep tried to pull Mallory into his car one day when she was just a kid. She wouldn’t tell us what happened that night. I didn’t know the truth until after Mary Lee died.

  “I can’t tell you how bad I feel that she couldn’t trust us. Could Mason be shutting down for the same reason? Am I crazy to think this way?”

  Lew reached for both his hands and grasped them firmly between hers as she said, “Look, it won’t be easy if she has been hurt. I may need to bring in a professional therapist but, please, Doc, know that between you and me and her parents, we’ll get Mason all the help she needs to determine what, if anything, has happened to her. Until then, let’s hope for the best.”

  She stood up and pulled Osborne into her arms for a long, comforting hug. “And if she has been hurt, we can help with that, too. You’d be amazed at how resilient kids are. Keep in mind that one out of four kids experience some kind of sexual abuse as they’re growing up. The good news is that today we have professionals trained to help them cope with the trauma.”

  “I sure hope so,” said Osborne, feeling a slight sense of relief. “You know,” he said taking a deep breath, “now that you mention it, there was an incident back when I was in boarding school. I think I told you I was six when my father sent me off to the Jesuits. When I was in the fourth grade, a number of the boys in my dorm were being victimized by an older boy from the high school—until one of the young ones finally went to the priest in charge of our dorm. The older boy was gone the next day.”

  “Really,” said Lew. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know what gave the younger boy the courage to speak up? “

  “I may be able to find out. The boy who blew the whistle and I have stayed in touch over the years. He’s a retired MD living in Indiana. I could call him and see if he remembers the incident and if he minds telling me why he did what he did.”

  “Worth a try, Doc. Look, I’ll cancel my evening so I can help you with this,” said Lew, setting the chairs back where they’d been.

  “Absolutely not. I’ll give my old friend a call and see what I can find out.”

  “I think it might be a good idea, if you’re able to reach him—and before you see Mason—that you and I talk. Have Marlene patch you through to me. And, Doc, this comes before any silly party.”

  Before they left the room, Lew reached to pull him close again. “Dr. Osborne,” she whispered, “Mason has all the right people around her. We’ll make this okay.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Osborne. “I’ll never forgive myself if she’s a victim of the same creep that went after Mallory. I can’t let that happen again.”

  “Doc,” said Lew, her voice firm, “I want you to get over that thought. Whoever it was this morning—it was not Bobby Schradtke. He was in a meeting with his probation officer, myself, the sheriff and three other parolees. Three hours. It could not possibly have been Bobby.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Osborne. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and turned. “Lew, I feel bad I can’t help you out here.”

  “Please, don’t even think about it. I’ll work something out. I’ll call the Wausau boys right now. They owe me one anyway. We’ve got a victim who isn’t going anywhere—that much we know. The main issue is getting the rug and the remains out of here so Bart can re-open his store.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Throughout the drive home Osborne could not stop worrying: did he have a current phone number for Pete Murphy? After all, it had been five years since they had caught up with each other during the academy’s centennial celebration.

  After arriving home and checking on Mike, who was intent on stalking a squirrel and could care less if his water dish was full, Osborne sat down at the desk in his den, opened his address book and picked up the phone.

  To his relief, a familiar voice answered on the second ring. “Paul, hey! Good to hear from you—what’s up?” asked Pete. “Finally coming through with an invitation to fish that beautiful lake of yours, are you?”

  “We can sure discuss that,” said Osborne, “but, Pete, the fact is I’ve got a difficult situation with one of my grandchildren, and my hunch is you may be able to help me out a little here. Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

  “I’ve got the time, not sure I’ve got any answers. Remember, Paul, I was a GP and not a pediatrician—”

  “This has nothing to do with medicine.”

  “Really? Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity, old friend. I’ll do my best to help you out. But give me a clue, won’t you?” Pete sounded so relaxed and happy that Osborne wondered if he was right to ask questions that could bring back unpleasant memories.

  “This is about an incident when you and I were in grade school, Pete. I’ve never forgotten that you were the guy who blew the whistle on that Collins kid. Remember that bully?”

  “Never forget him. Wonder whatever happened to that jerk.”

  “You were the only one on your floor with the guts to say anything even though a number of the other boys knew he was hurting those kids. Everyone was too scared to say anything. I guess …” Osborne paused, uncertain how to ask the next question.

  “My question is—would you mind talking about that, Pete? I would like to know what gave you the confidence to tell Father Kucera what was happening.”

  “And why is that, Paul? You have a grandchild who is being bullied?”

  “Possibly … maybe worse …”

  “I see. Well, if it helps I’m happy to tell you why I did what I did. And you may find it rather ironic that it all started with one of my grandparents—my grandmother …”

  Twenty minutes later Osborne had a plan. He called Erin. “Is Mason still up to go fishing?” He knew the answer before he asked, of course, and chuckled at the whoop of joy he heard in the background. “Good, I’ll be there by three-thirty.”

  Opening the back of the Subaru, he carefully laid two metal tubes side by side—the beige one held his old Sage fly rod and the forest green tube with the shiny brass cap held the new Winston fly rod that Lew and his daughters had given him for his birthday. He double-checked his fishing duffle to be sure it held a couple extra reels and, finally, he folded his fly fishing vest so that the pockets bulging with boxes of trout flies wouldn’t get crushed by Mike’s car kennel. At the last minute, he threw in an extra fishing hat—the one that was too small for him.

  Before leaving the house, he let the dog out of the yard and together they headed for the water: Osborne took the stairs while Mike leaped ahead, dashing onto the dock before coming to a skidding halt at the end. Much as the black lab loved to swim, he refused to dive.

  Osborne ambled out over the water to stand beside the dog and speculate. It was a favorite pastime of his, and Mason had asked him once why he spent so much time alone on his dock. “I like to speculate,” he had said and left to her to figure what
he meant.

  A cerulean sky had cast its spell across the water with only the distant horizon of dark firs to separate the matching blues. The water surface was still. Not a cloud marred the sky, not a sound the air. Not even the hum of a distant outboard motor could be heard. Peace reigned. Osborne raised his face to the sun, speculating.

  Summer afternoon in June: life should be perfect. Old bones should not tumble out of rugs; little girls should not be terrified. How would this day end?

  He found his favorite perch on the bench anchoring the end of the dock and took the time to say—as was his habit when life pressed hard—a Hail Mary. A short prayer, it had been his favorite since childhood, since those days with the Jesuits: a wistful attempt to ensure he was doing the right thing.

  After three Hail Marys, he and the dog sat very still, listening as a trio of breezes came rippling across the water, whispering their secrets to the tall pines guarding the shore.

  Secrets, Osborne thought, goddamn secrets. I’ve had it with secrets. He reached to rub the black lab behind his ears then gave him a swift pat, “Okay, guy, gotta go. Wish me luck.”

  And Mike leaped up to do as he was asked with a wag of his tail and a wide, toothy smile.

  As he drove into town, left hand on the steering wheel, right hand clutching the cell phone, he was able to reach Marlene on the switchboard and ask to be patched through to Lew. It took just a minute to relay the gist of Pete’s story and let her know what he was planning to do.

  “Well,” she said after a brief pause, “can’t hurt to give it a try, Doc. Mason’s got an aggressive side to her and this may just hit her right. But, please, call me later. Even if it’s after five, I’ll have my phone with me and I’m going to worry until we know more.”