by Rick Polad
“Let’s stay here. Hard to beat this view, and there are liable to be other people in the restaurant.” I smiled. “Did you eat?”
“I did, but I’ll have some coffee.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Carol with information on the names. And more about the agency. And a bit more.”
We sat at the table, and she handed me a slip of paper. It had addresses for the three couples and another name and address—Justine Trainer.
“Trainer is the owner. She was a nurse at a local hospital for twenty years up until 1970 when she opened this adoption agency. Obviously still in business after fifteen years, so the baby business must be doing okay.”
I dunked a roll in the coffee and took a bite. “Good. What’s the more?”
She took a sip of coffee and pointed at the list. “Mary Maxwell.”
“What about her?”
“She’s dead. Murdered about four months ago. Shot as she was walking from her garage to the house.”
I was about to take a drink but put down my cup. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No. I would think not.”
“Any more about it?”
“Nope. Just what you see on the list. She and Harold live, or lived, in St. Charles.”
I thought for a few seconds and said with a smile, “Nice day for a drive.”
“I figured. But I was hoping for some time in the whirlpool tub.”
“I think I can arrange that,” I said with a bigger smile.
“Do you know someone in St. Charles?”
“No, but I know a certain detective who would probably be willing to make a call.”
“She may be more willing after some time in the tub.”
“Exactly! See if we can see someone in the morning. If we leave after lunch we’ll have plenty of time to get home and spend a quiet evening. I’m going to call the agency and make another appointment for us on Wednesday.”
“After breaking in?”
“If they got a record of the incident, it had my name, not Blaine. And I wasn’t arrested, so would my name even be on it?”
“Probably not. What’s the purpose for going back there?”
“I have two days to think of something.”
She laughed. “Do you want me to cancel the room for tonight?”
“No. I think I’d like to extend it ‘til the end of the week. I’ll call and do that. You start the water.”
“I was hoping to spend some time at the cottage,” she said.
“We will. But we might get spoiled by this tub.”
She laughed. “Nice to have choices.”
“Indeed.”
I took care of the room, and it was only a second after I hung up that the phone rang.
“Hello, Spencer, it’s Kate.”
“Good morning, Kate. How are you holding up?”
“As best as can be expected. The place just isn’t the same. They have me working with the captain since Lieutenant…” Her voice broke.
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
After a pause, she said, “I’ll be all right. How are you?”
“The same. Trying to stay busy. What can I do for you?”
“They found the cousin this morning. He was hiding in a cellar. We got a tip.”
“Well, that’s something. But I’m not real hopeful.”
“No? I’m trying to be.”
“Hang onto that, Kate. You never know.”
“I’ll try.”
Rosie came out of the bathroom and waved.
“Rosie says hi.”
“Hi to Rosie. You two have fun.”
“We’re about to do that. Bye, Kate.”
“Bye, Spencer.”
The water was too hot, and it took me several minutes to get all the way in.
While we were soaking, I told her what I had found at the agency.
“That answers a few questions,” Rosie said.
“Yes, Petrace was an employee and handled the adoption. But why are there extra names on the folder?”
“Still pieces that don’t fit.” She added water to the tub and sunk up to her chin. “And Petrace didn’t start there until eighty-two, long after Stosh’s adoption date.”
“Probably just took it over from whoever was there before.”
“Probably.”
I moved so that a water jet was in the middle of my back. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to close my eyes and not think about anything but you and the water.”
She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.”
***
We were on the road by one, after a brief discussion about doctor’s orders and who shouldn’t be driving. The discussion ended with Rosie rolling her eyes and getting in the passenger seat. We were back home in Chicago by seven. I ordered a pizza from the car, and it arrived five minutes after we did. We spent the evening watching television and chatting about memories. We turned in at ten and got a good night’s sleep.
Chapter 10
The birds woke me up at a little after five. The sky was lightening, and it promised to be a nice spring day. The weatherman predicted a high in the mid-seventies. Rosie had made an appointment with a Detective Springer for eleven a.m. We got there fifteen minutes early. St. Charles was a quaint town, also on the Fox River, full of stately old homes, shops, and restaurants. The station fit right in with its fancy old brickwork.
We were shown to Springer’s office. He was on the phone and waved us in. Numerous pictures on the wall showed Springer’s history through the years. They started with him and a partner in patrol uniform next to a squad car. Above the police photos was Springer in a marine uniform. The version behind the desk was dressed in brown dress slacks and a long-sleeve shirt and sported a crew cut that was a bit grown out but still neat. I wondered whether his tan was from tennis or golf. I decided on golf. A sport coat hung on a hook next to the pictures.
After introductions, he offered us seats and apologized for the décor.
“Yes,” Rosie said, “it’s sure a step down from my palace in Chicago.”
Everyone laughed. It was a good ice breaker.
“My sympathies about Lieutenant Powolski,” he said.
“Thanks,” we both said.
“Did you work with him?”
“I did,” said Rosie. “He was my boss. With Spencer he was more like a favorite uncle. Spencer’s father was chief of police, and the lieutenant was like a part of the family.”
He looked at me with a different look. “Oh, that Manning. My sympathies about your folks, Spencer. This job is pretty damned sad sometimes.”
I just nodded and changed the subject.
Telling him how Mary Maxwell fit in, I explained some of the case to Springer and asked what they had.
He shrugged. “Not much. She was shot twice at close range in the chest with a .22 as she walked with groceries from her garage to the house.”
“What time?”
“Doc puts it somewhere around ten p.m.”
“No one saw anything?”
He shook his head. “They live out in unincorporated horse country. Five acres plus lots.”
“No one heard the shots?” Rosie asked.
Springer sighed. “Yeah, two people said they heard something but said they’d been having trouble with coyotes and figured that’s what the shots were. A real shame. Doc said she would have survived if someone got to her soon enough. Neither wound would have killed her, but she bled out. She crawled about twenty feet from where she fell.”
“Her husband wasn’t home?” I asked.
“Nope. At a meeting of chicken farmers. They raise ‘em.”
A female cop came in and dropped a file on Springer’s desk.
“Thanks, Betsy.”
She nodded in our direction and left.
“Any attempts on the husband’s life?”
“Nope.” He leaned back in his chair. “So you think this is tied in with the adoption thing?”
�
��Do you like coincidences?”
He smiled. “Not much. Have you checked the other two names?”
“That’s on our list.”
“Where do they live?”
“Both in Wisconsin. The Bells are in Green Bay and the Freys are in Appleton. We’re heading back up to Green Bay from here. Did your investigation come up with anything?”
“Only a couple of longshots. There are two people who were not happy with the Maxwells. One was part of this chicken group. Some sort of feud about selling eggs. The other was a neighbor. Seems one of their chickens turned out to be a rooster that could crow with the best of them. Threats had been made, but mostly to the rooster.”
“Hardly seems worth killing over,” I said.
“You never know what pushes someone’s buttons.”
We agreed.
Springer handed Rosie a card, and I gave him one of mine.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, you’ve got my number,” he said as he stood.
“And vice versa,” said Rosie.
He stopped us as we were walking out. “What was the bullet with the lieutenant?”
“A .22,” Rosie said.
“Another coincidence.”
“Add it to the list,” I said.
He nodded.
Chapter 11
We stopped for lunch and by one were heading north toward the tollway. Stopped at a light in Elgin, I asked Rosie what she thought about a detour to Appleton.
“It’s your gas.”
As I pulled away I said, “It’s not too far out of the way... just south of Green Bay and a bit west. We’ve gotta head north anyway.”
She agreed.
I turned on the radio. The Cubs were playing the Giants. They were in the bottom of the first.
“Speaking of gas, it’s a good thing that leaded gas ban didn’t go through,” Rosie said.
“Well, a good thing for the Mustang. But not so good for the environment.”
She laughed. “Money doesn’t care about the environment, Spencer.”
“Nope. Lead has been a known poison for fifty years. But it makes a lot of money for the gas companies. One of these days we’ll succeed in making this planet an unfit place to live.”
“Well, aren’t you a ball of sunshine.”
“Just a realist.”
“And a hypocrite, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I do mind, but only because you’re right.”
I turned onto the westbound entrance ramp to I90 and headed toward Rockford.
When we reached Rockford and turned north, Rosie asked, “So, when we get to Appleton what do you have in mind?”
“If they have a Dairy Queen I’ll buy you a cone.”
“That would be wonderful. But I was more asking about the Freys.”
“Not sure. For the moment, I’d just like to make sure they’re alive.”
That led to a philosophical discussion that lasted all the way to the Janesville exit as to whether we should even tell the Freys about the situation. The simplest plan would be to knock on their door and see if they were both alive. But if someone knocked on my door with that purpose I’d want to know why, which would certainly lead to some concern. Did we want to cause them concern… perhaps unduly? But if we didn’t let them know and one or both of them ended up dead that certainly would be worse than causing concern. That led to Rosie’s next line of thought.
“We’re assuming there’s a connection because two of the people on the file folder are dead.”
“Well, a bit more than that,” I said. “Both murdered… same caliber bullet.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Of course. If we knew why, this wouldn’t be an issue.” I thought about it as I drove. “Another question is why are there so many names on the folders. One birth mother should be tied to one adopting client. Victoria’s name was written under the other names on both folders, but the names on the tabs and the list under the tabs were different.”
“But different only in that they were switched around,” I said. “The same names were on all the folders.”
“Correct.”
“The only name in the same spot on both folders was Victoria’s.”
“Correct again. And we know she was an employee. Maybe she was the one who handled both cases.”
“When did she work there?”
I tried to remember. “From 1982 until early this year, I think. Three years.”
“And when did Stosh and Francine start the adoption?”
“I think it was 1975.”
“So,” Rosie said, “Victoria didn’t work there until much later. So she couldn’t have handled the cases.”
“Then she took it over. Someone had to handle Stosh’s checks. It’s unlikely that the same employees would be there that long.”
“Maybe, but why are there so many other names on the folder?”
“Good question.”
“And what do we do about the Freys?”
“How about we stop at the police station and let them decide?”
“That’s a pretty lame solution,” Rosie said.
“You have a better idea?”
She just stared out the window.
“And we have to find out where the Freys live.”
“Okay, we’ll have a chat with the police. But this is going to sound pretty lame. In St. Charles we had a murder to be wondering about. Here we just have a pretty far-fetched story.”
I turned up the radio. Scoreless in the third. WGN was starting to be covered by static, and we’d lose the signal before long.
“I agree, but I’m thinking we need to let somebody know. The more networking the better. And I’m thinking the best option is the police. Let them decide.”
“Okay by me.”
The farm fields gave way to the suburbs of Madison. I turned east on 151 and headed toward Lake Winnebago and Appleton. I drove down country backroads that wound around lakes and hills through the glacial terrain of Wisconsin. Planted around the lakes were farmers’ fields, green crops barely showing above the soil.
***
We passed a large dairy farm with the late afternoon sun sparkling off of silver roofs and followed the curving road into Appleton. It wasn’t as big as Green Bay, but it was a fair-sized city, much larger than the small towns that dotted the farm fields along the highway, many of which didn’t even have stop signs. I stopped for gas at the edge of town and got directions to the police department.
We turned onto Main Street, and I got the feel of small-town America as we passed shops that had probably been there for a hundred years. What caught my attention the most was Matt’s Hardware. The painted sign above the door and the window displays jammed with merchandise brought back fond memories of the neighborhood hardware store Dad let me wander around in, with the wooden bins full of treasures and sawdust on the wooden floors. And then there was the one fellow who had been there since it opened, it seemed, who knew where everything was. When I was a kid, that guy was one of my heroes. Whatever they sold, he knew which bin it was in. Two blocks up we found the police department, and I pulled the Mustang into an angled parking spot in front. It was a brick structure with a parking lot on one side and a coffee shop on the other. “Appleton Police” was stenciled on the window. Next to that was a red apple.
The inside was a bit dim as the front faced north and didn’t get any direct sun. There was a large man in jeans and a flannel shirt standing at the counter talking to a woman in a dark blue uniform at one of three desks. His belt was holding up his stomach. I stood next to him and waited for him to stop talking.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. We’d like to talk with the chief, if he’s available,” I said.
She smiled at the man at the counter. “I’ll see if he’s available.” I expected her to get up, but instead, still looking at the man at the counter, she asked, “Chief, are you available?”
He smiled bac
k at her. “I’ll have to check with my secretary. Officer James, am I available?”
They both laughed. This evidently wasn’t the first time they had pulled this routine.
“Sorry,” he said with a smile, holding his hand out. “I’m Chief Werth, Yancy.”
I introduced myself and Rosie as Detective Lonnigan from Chicago.
“Detective, eh? Well, follow me. Would you like some coffee?”
He led us around the counter to an office at the rear of the room.
“Officer Mills, would you like some coffee?”
“No thanks, Chief.”
There was a pot percolating on a shelf to the right of his desk. Rosie took a cup… I declined.
“What can I do for you?” he asked as we all sat.
I held my hand out to Rosie, and she took five minutes to explain the situation. She covered everything except the Freys and my nighttime visits to the agency. She told him about the folders but not how we knew. He didn’t ask.
Chief Werth folded his hands over his stomach, let out a few um hmms, nodded some, and for the most part looked like he was giving it some thought.
When Rosie was done, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “First, I’m sorry about Lieutenant Powolski. I often wonder why we do this. Second, that’s all very interesting, but why are you sitting in my office?”
I responded. “One of the names on the folder was Frey, Joe and Gretchen.”
His eyebrows went up. “Well, that does make it a bit different.”
“Do you know them?” Rosie asked.
He nodded. “Very well. Joe Frey is on the city council. We have coffee every so often.”
“Can we assume they’re both alive?”
He laughed. “Last I checked. Though there are some on the council who may at times wish otherwise.”
We both laughed.
Officer Mills leaned in the doorway. “Tracy is taking a half hour for dinner, Chief.”
“Okay. Thanks Ellen.”
“We were wondering whether or not we should tell the Freys about this… situation,” I said.
He sat up straight and said, “I think so. As a matter of fact, I already know a little about this agency. Joe talked to me about adopting a child. They were having trouble and getting older every day, as he put it. Someone recommended that agency in Green Bay. Everything was going okay… they got a letter and a call saying they had found a baby for them. But then it fell apart for some reason and Joe came to me.”