by Rick Polad
He raised his eyebrows and waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, he asked, “So what was in the file?”
I tilted my head, clasped my hands together, and said, “That’s where it gets off the road a little bit.” He just waited. “Someone hit me on the head, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed and Iverson was sitting there smiling at me.”
“A little bit?”
I gave him a pleading look.
He sighed and set his bottle on the table next to his chair as a cardinal landed on the railing and tilted his head at us. “Okay, I may regret this, but give me the whole story.”
“We drove to the agency about one in the morning. The plan was to get in and look around.”
Stosh held up his hand. “We?”
Rosie squirmed in her chair. “I didn’t go anywhere near the place. I was parked down the block.”
“Oh, well then that’s okay. What’s the matter with you two?” He looked at me. “You involved one of my detectives in this? What were you thinking?”
Rosie answered for me. “He was thinking he’d find something about his best friend who had been killed.”
He held up his hand. “I get it, but he doesn’t have a career to worry about… you do.”
“I had a friend killed too.”
He just shook his head. Hard to argue with that. He held his hand out, palm up, and I continued.
“I came in through the alley. When I got there the door was unlocked.”
“And that, of course, raised all kinds of red flags.”
“One, but when I got inside I listened and looked around and found no one.”
“Well, evidently you didn’t look around enough.”
“Evidently.”
“How did you get to the hospital room?”
“In an ambulance with a police escort.” Before he had a chance to make a comment, I continued. “I obviously wasn’t the first person to have entered the building. A neighbor saw the first person and reported it. The police showed up and found me on the floor and assumed I was the person who had been seen entering.”
“A good assumption.”
“But incorrect.”
“Yeah… the other person was long gone?”
“Yup.”
“Any description by the neighbor?”
“Pretty vague. No help.”
“And you were arrested?”
I smiled. “That’s where Iverson comes in.”
Rosie spoke up. “I all of a sudden saw red lights… two police cars. I wondered what to do and decided to stay in the car. I figured Spencer was good at taking care of himself, so I drove closer to the building and watched. Ten minutes later the ambulance showed up.”
“And you still stayed in the car?” Stosh asked.
“I did.”
“Well that was the first smart thing you did.”
“I followed the ambulance and one of the police cars to the hospital and walked in with the stretcher. They brought him into the ER. I waited for a doctor to come out, flashed my badge, and asked what his status was. He told me he had been hit on the head and was unconscious, but it wasn’t serious. While I was thinking of what to do, I remembered Iverson and called, hoping he’d remember me.”
Iverson smiled. “Hard to forget someone who lets a prisoner escape.”
Rosie looked embarrassed.
“She explained the situation and asked for help,” he said. “I got there about six and had a chat with Rosie and then the officers. Manning had regained consciousness but was asleep.”
Stosh nodded. “And how did the chat with the officers go?”
“They were waiting to arrest him until they talked to him. I have a weekly breakfast with their boss, Chief Snark. I asked that they get ahold of him. He showed up at eight fifteen.” He lifted his bottle and took a drink. “I managed to convince him that the situation was a bit odd. Obviously, someone had entered the building before Manning, and that someone had knocked him out. My version of the incident was that Manning had been out for a walk and seen someone breaking into the building. He went in to investigate.”
Stosh looked skeptical. “And he bought that?”
“Not for a second,” I said.
Iverson glanced at me and then turned back to Stosh. “Of course not, but he had to admit someone else did the breaking… Manning just entered. He didn’t file charges, but told me Manning was my responsibility.”
Stosh laughed. “Oh, there’s something to be happy about. I’d rather be responsible for a rolling grenade.”
I had a comment but kept it to myself.
Iverson laughed. “Me too. We had lunch and these two told me the story.”
“Okay.” Stosh pointed at me. “So you weren’t arrested.” He pointed at Rosie. “The cops don’t know about you.” Then he looked at Iverson. “And you are responsible for my boy.”
That was all correct, and no one answered.
“And for all your trouble you have a file folder with names on it. Hardly seems—”
“It doesn’t end there,” I said.
“I should have known. But before you continue, I’ll have another beer.”
Now the trouble was going to start. “We’re out,” I said.
I just got the familiar Stosh look of disgust, and he waved his hand. We’d deal with the beer later.
But now the story got a little tricky. I could tell it to Stosh, but I wasn’t sure about how much Iverson would want to know, or not want to know. So I said, “Hey, Iverson… remember in the hospital when I asked you if the cop was in the room?”
“Sure. But I want to hear the story, so the cop just went to the head.”
I nodded. “There had to be more, so I went back the next night for another look.” No one looked surprised. I looked at Stosh. “The file with your name on it was gone, I assume taken by whoever hit me. But I was interested in the other names. I found a file for the Bells… Green Bay. Their name was on the tab, and it had the same assorted names under the tab, including yours, Stosh. There were the Maxwells in St. Charles and the Freys in Appleton. And under those was the same Victoria Petrace.
“I looked in the drawer marked ‘Birth Mother’ and found nothing under any of the names. Then I tried the employee drawer, looking for Peters, the lady who interviewed us. It had her work info, address and phone number and hired in 1979. As I was putting her file back I saw the folder behind it… Petrace, Victoria. She had been hired in 1982, and left the company in February. It was noted as ‘separated.’”
“Okay,” said Stosh. “So Petrace is an employee.”
“Well, was… but there’s more. She obviously wasn’t there when your adoption started but could have taken over your account. Do you recall that name?”
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t talked to anyone in a long time.”
“You just kept sending checks?”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and looked very sad. I was pretty sure I knew why.
“Yes. I wondered about it and told Francine that it smelled bad and we weren’t sending any money. But it was a charitable organization, Single Mother Outreach if I remember correctly, and they said they supported a house for single mothers.”
“Did you look into it?” I asked.
“I did. They did own a house, and the outreach was a listed company.” He stared out over the bay and quietly said, “I could never say no to Francine. So we sent money.”
“Even though I’m betting you suspected it was a scam?”
“Even though. I know it was dumb, but… well, it was worth it to see the joy on Francine’s face.”
“And after she died?”
Sadness took over his face. “I just did it for her.”
Rosie put her arm around his shoulders.
“Why did you never have kids?” I asked. “You both obviously wanted to.”
“Francine had a miscarriage. They had to operate, and that was the end of having kids.”
Rosie hugge
d him. “I’m so sorry, Stosh.”
“Thanks.” He hugged her back. “So where does all this go?”
“We decided to check on the other names on the folder. Carol made some calls and discovered that Mary Maxwell in St. Charles had been murdered.”
That got Stosh’s attention. “Murdered?”
“Two shots in the chest. Same caliber bullet. They live out in horse country. It was dark, and there were no witnesses. Her husband wasn’t home. We took a drive and talked to a Detective Springer. There aren’t any good suspects. From there we went to Appleton and talked to Chief Werth, who took us out to see the Freys. They are both alive and well but now worried.”
Stosh nodded. “Did either of those couples pay the?”
“The Maxwells did, but he stopped when his wife was killed. The Freys didn’t and eventually asked for their money back.”
“What about the people in Green Bay?”
I told him about our chat with Snark and Dunsley. “Dunsley tells us he checked on the Bells. Both are fine.”
“How about the payments?”
“That’s all we have. Dunsley wasn’t even happy about having to do what he did. We’ll look into that.”
He rubbed his chin with his left hand.
“Tell him about Sarah, Spencer,” Rosie said.
“The receptionist is a young girl named Sarah Leek. We like her. The first time we went to the agency there was a couple coming out, and the wife was very upset. We asked Peters about it and she made up some bull. The next time we were there we asked Sarah if there were any disgruntled mothers. She started to tell us about one and used the name Victoria. But she was cut short.”
Stosh stopped rubbing. “Victoria? Same name as the employee?”
“Well, here’s where it gets interesting. Same person. We accidentally ran into Sarah a few days later and took her to dinner. She doesn’t like Peters either. She’s from a farm west of here and isn’t happy about the city or the job.”
Rosie took over. “She told us Victoria was a birth mother. She gave up the baby but later decided she wanted it back and came into the office very upset.”
Stosh looked confused. “They hired a birth mother?”
“Evidently.”
“Seems odd. I wonder why.”
I shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe she needed a job, and Peters felt sorry for her.”
“Maybe something more complicated.”
“Maybe.
“So she breaks into the office to look at the files,” Stosh said, “and puts you on the floor.”
“That’s my guess,” I said. “But she didn’t break in. Snark told us there were no force marks on the door. She still had a key. Peters never changed the locks.”
“But she has now,” Rosie said.
“Um hmm. So what do we know about this Petrace?”
“She’s disappeared,” I said. “We stopped at her house last night. There were papers on the walk, and the neighbor said he hadn’t seen her since Monday or Tuesday.”
Iverson chimed in for the first time. “So Petrace was probably there twice, including the first unreported break-in?”
“Probably,” I said.
“Why twice, I wonder.”
“No clue. Must not have found what she wanted the first time.”
“I wonder when the first time was…” said Stosh. “Before or after I was shot.”
“Sarah said it was about six months ago, so that would make it December.”
“So let’s assume she had my address before I was shot.”
I thought for a few seconds and listened to the quiet, interrupted only by the birds. “Seems like a good assumption. And let’s add Mary Maxwell to that. She was shot in January.”
After another minute of birds, Rosie said, “Stosh and Maxwell were shot after the first entry. Then there’s another entry.”
I continued. “Yes. And if we go with the theory that she didn’t find everything she needed the first time, maybe she just got the other two names.”
“And maybe she didn’t,” said Iverson.
“Maybe she didn’t,” I agreed.
“Lots of maybes,” said Stosh.
“There always are,” I said. I pointed up and we all watched a hawk glide over the tops of the pines.
Iverson broke the silence as the bird headed out toward the lake. “Let’s assume all this is true. Why is she killing people?”
“Let’s make that singular,” said Stosh.
Iverson laughed. “For this conversation, it’s easier for you to be dead. If this is Petrace, then she thinks you are.”
“And so far I’m enjoying it, except for the lack of beer.”
“You know, there are other labels,” I replied.
He just glared at me.
Rosie continued. “And if we assume she now has what she needs, then the other two couples are targets.”
“Could be,” said Iverson. “But back to my question… why?”
The hawk was back. “She wants her baby,” I said. “And she’s angry. Maybe she’s taking a look at the people on the list, but she’s looking for her baby. When she doesn’t find it, she takes it out on that person.”
“That’s not very rational,” said Iverson.
“Since when is murder rational?” I asked. No one answered.
Stosh was rubbing his chin again. “So the names on the folders weren’t just possible parents.”
I shook my head. “No, they were all parents… for the same baby.”
“That’s not a baby anymore. She’d be about ten now. But where is she?” Rosie asked.
“Good question.” I stood and walked to the railing. “Peters may be the only one who knows.”
“I wonder if Peters is in danger?” asked Rosie.
I turned around. “Probably.”
“So maybe we should give her a heads up.”
“I’ll put it on the list of things to do… at the bottom.”
“So what next?” asked Stosh.
“Two things,” I said. “Paul is coming Sunday. I want him to keep an eye on the agency.”
“And somebody needs to talk to the couple in Green Bay,” said Iverson.
“Yes, the Bells. That’s the second. Maybe we’ll go tomorrow. And I’d like to drive by Peters’ and Trainer’s houses as long as we’re out.”
“Do you want to have a chat with Trainer?” Rosie asked.
“Maybe at some point, but we need more information first. Let’s see what surveillance gets us. But most of all, I’d like to find Petrace. If she’s the killer, then she’s not done. But who’s the next target? The Bells or the Freys?”
“Or Mr. Maxwell,” said Iverson.
“And where is she?” Rosie asked.
“Are there bulletins out?” asked Stosh.
“Yeah,” Iverson said. “Wisconsin and Illinois. And the departments in St. Charles and Green Bay and Appleton and Chicago are all talking. Chief Snark is getting a warrant to search Petrace’s house.”
“I’d like to be a part of that,” I said. “If it even happens.”
“I bet you would, but Snark isn’t exactly your best friend. I’ll fill you in.”
I sighed. “Okay, but if Dunsley is the one doing the searching I’m not too confident they’ll find anything important.”
“We can only hope.”
“There’s something else,” I said. “The house Victoria is living in is the one owned by the agency.”
“How do you know that?” Stosh asked.
“Sarah. The odd thing is that Victoria isn’t a single mother with a child, and she was fired as an employee.”
“Maybe Peters felt sorry for her after she let her go,” Rosie said.
“Maybe,” I said. “I’d sure like to know what Victoria is thinking.”
“We could call our department psychiatrist,” said Stosh.
Iverson stood up and stretched. “I have a woman in Sister Bay who consults with us once in while.”
“You need
psychiatrists in paradise?”
Iverson laughed. “People are people. They carry their problems around with them… doesn’t matter where they are. You wanna talk to her?”
“Sure. What’s her name?”
“Dr. Long, Lynn. I’ll call and give her a heads up.”
He gave me her phone number and told me where she was.
“Thanks. We’ll see her Monday morning if she’s available.”
“I’d better get to work.” There had been traffic on his hand-held radio, but nothing he needed to respond to. “We’ve got an undercover operation tonight at Peninsula State Park. We think there are drug deals going on… there’ve been reports of suspicious activity. The ranger stopped a car that had been reported but didn’t find anything.”
“So all is not perfect in paradise?” Stosh asked.
Iverson laughed. “Hardly, but our not perfect is a lot better than your not perfect.”
“This the first op?”
“No. Third. But my manpower is pretty slim. We’ve only got one car and two part-time cops who pose as lovers so they have a reason to be there.”
I glanced at Rosie. “You want another pair of lovers?”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Rosie?”
She shrugged.
“Well, could sure use the help. And a car with out-of-state plates would be perfect. But I don’t know if an old married couple can pull this off.”
I smiled. “We’ll pretend.”
Stosh looked up at the sky and shook his head.
“Okay, I’ll call you this afternoon and we’ll set it up. You gonna be here?”
“No other plans,” I said.
We all stood, and Iverson said his goodbyes. He picked up a few things from the cottage and headed out.
As he pulled out, Stosh said, “If you get Rosie hurt I’m coming after you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He sat back down and asked what we thought about the gang investigation.
“What do you think about the gang angle?” asked Rosie.
“A lot less after today. It’s certainly possible, but always hard to prove unless we catch them in the act.”
“Has the captain said anything about the initiation theory?”
“They’re working on it, but no one’s talking.” He put his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m pretty tired. I’m not making it through the day without a nap.”