Broken Promises - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 8)

by Terri Reid

  Bernie nodded. “Yeah, sure, that’d be great,” he said. “It’ll keep me from putting my foot in my mouth.”

  Sean grinned and guided him back into the room.

  “It’s like a feeding frenzy out there,” Bernie said as they closed the door. “How are you guys holding up?”

  “Ah, well, just fine, if you don’t mind watching a fairy tale come alive before you,” Ian complained. “By the end of the day, they’ll be giving the man a medal instead of locking him in the deep, dark place he belongs.”

  Bernie shrugged. “I did the best I could do. I know it wasn’t…”

  Ian put his hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “You did a great job,” he said. “You got in more information than anyone else has been allowed to. You gave that lawyer a run for his money and we’re all grateful to you. It just burns me to see the way he’s being portrayed.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” Sean said. “Once Bradley takes the stand, things will get cleared up.”

  There was a quick knock on the door and Sean opened it to see the bailiff standing outside. “Court’s about to resume,” he said. “We need you to take your seats.”

  Mary grasped Bradley’s hand quickly, squeezed it and then let it go. “For luck,” she said.

  “Thanks, I think I’m going to need it,” he replied.

  Once inside the courtroom, Bradley was called to the stand and sworn in. He sat tall in the chair and looked slowly around the courtroom. He looked at the jury, their eyes focused on the attorney. Bradley could see the attorney had them captivated with his version of the story. Then he looked over at Gary, who sat calm and relaxed in his chair. Gary met Bradley’s eyes and nodded his head slightly and smirked at him.

  He knows he’s winning, Bradley thought, his blood boiling. Well, I’m not going to let that bastard get away with killing my wife.

  Lydia approached Bradley. “Chief Alden, how do you know Dr. Gary Copper?”

  “He was a neighbor of mine in Sycamore,” Bradley answered. “And he is the man who kidnapped and killed my wife.”

  Members of the jury inhaled sharply, but the attorney did not object.

  “Chief Alden, weren’t you in fact more than just neighbors with Dr. Copper?” he asked. “Didn’t you consider him a close friend of both yourself and your wife?”

  “A trusted friend,” he admitted. “He and his wife, Beverly, were invited to our home many times.”

  “Could you please tell us what happened at your home eight years ago?”

  “I was on patrol,” he explained. “I was an officer for the Sycamore Police Department. And we received a call about a home invasion. Then the dispatcher gave us the address and I realized it was my home. I rushed to the scene and found my house had been broken into, our possessions scattered and my wife was missing.”

  “How did you react?” Lydia asked.

  “I beg your pardon, but how do you think I reacted?” he said. “My wife was pregnant. We had just found out we were having a baby girl. Just purchased the pink paint for the nursery. I was frantic. I searched through the house again, even though other officers had done the same.”

  “When did you stop searching?” Lydia asked.

  “I searched for seven years,” he said. “Gave up my job, my pension, my savings in order to find my wife. I followed every lead I could, searched morgues for Jane Does, and did everything I could. Until I realized I had no more leads and had done all I could. That’s when I took the job in Freeport, as police chief.”

  “What led you to the discovery of Gary Copper’s relationship with your wife?”

  “I hired a private investigator and she discovered that Gary drugged Jeannine with Valium and kept her in a subterranean room, underneath his office, until she was in labor. Then, in a panic, he brought her to Cook County Hospital, so no one would know who he was. When she died, he buried her using his wife’s name.”

  “Wouldn’t his wife object to that?”

  “She probably would have if he didn’t have his wife and their baby stuffed into the freezer in his basement at his home,” Bradley stated.

  The jury and the courtroom audience gasped.

  “Objection,” Greg called. “Inadmissible evidence.”

  “I was there! I saw the bodies!” Bradley countered, leaning forward on the stand.

  Greg ignored Bradley and spoke directly to the judge. “Chief Alden entered the home without a warrant and with no probable cause that a crime was being committed.”

  “There was probable cause,” Lydia argued. “Mary O’Reilly had been kidnapped by Copper, the same way he took Jeannine.”

  Lumbering up from his seat, Greg leaned forward on his desk. “And what proof do you have that Dr. Copper did that, Ms. Meyer?” he asked. “None that you’ve presented to the bench.”

  “The police found Ms. O’Reilly at Dr. Copper’s office after she had been forcibly removed from her home,” Lydia countered.

  “My client told me that Ms. O’Reilly seduced him and coerced him to take her back to his office,” Greg said with a mocking sneer. “Something about always wanting to do it in a dentist chair.”

  “What the hell!” Bradley shouted, standing up in his chair and lunging towards Greg. The big man jumped back and knocked his chair over.

  “Order!” the judge shouted, as she rapped her gavel sharply on the desk. “Order in this court!”

  Bradley sat down slowly, his glare never leaving Greg’s face. Mopping his forehead again, Greg took a deep shaky breath. “Permission to approach the bench,” he stammered.

  Nodding, the judge motioned to Lydia. “I think it would be a good idea for both of you to approach.”

  When the lawyers stood in front of the judge she glared at Greg. “If I ever hear about you goading a witness as you just did with Chief Alden, I will have you disbarred. Do you understand me?”

  Greg nodded. “Yes, your honor.”

  Then she turned to Lydia. “Do you have any evidence that Gary Copper kidnapped and kept Jeannine Alden against her will?”

  “We have DNA evidence that she was down there,” Lydia said. “But because she died, we only have circumstantial evidence.”

  “So, Chief Alden acted on circumstantial evidence and did not obtain a warrant before entering Dr. Copper’s home,” she summarized.

  Lydia paused and then sighed. “Yes your honor.”

  “Counselor, you are going to have to do a lot better than that if you are going to win your case,” she stated. “Now, let’s proceed.”

  Greg returned to his seat and Lydia walked back over to Bradley. She shook her head and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “The jury will disregard the information stated by the witness in regards to the contents of Dr. Copper’s residence. A warrant was not obtained and therefore any evidence is inadmissible to this court.”

  “Chief Alden, when did you discover Dr. Copper had buried your wife using the name Beverly Copper?” she asked.

  “A month ago we obtained a court order to have the body exhumed,” he said. “The Cook County Coroner was able to perform a DNA test and confirm she was indeed Jeannine Alden, my wife.”

  “How long had your wife been dead?” she asked.

  Bradley started to speak, but his voice cracked and he stopped and cleared his throat. “She was buried five months after the break-in,” he said. “I searched for her for years, not knowing she was already dead and resting in a cemetery in Cook County. I searched for her, not knowing that our baby girl had been given up for adoption.”

  “Thank you, Chief Alden, no more questions.”

  “Mr. Thanner, would you like to cross-examine?”

  Greg stood up. “Yes, your honor, I would,” he said.

  Staying safely behind his desk, Greg addressed Bradley. “Dr. Copper was your trusted friend for years, was he not?”

  Bradley nodded tightly, “That was before I found out he was a psychopath.”

  “Chief Alden, do you have any psychological training that w
ould allow you to classify anyone, including my client, as a psychopath?” he asked.

  Bradley shook his head. “No official training, just years on the police force,” he replied.

  The attorney smiled and nodded. He reached forward and picked up a manila folder. “Ah, yes, your years on the force,” he repeated, holding the folder in one hand and waving it towards Bradley. “It’s funny you should mention that.”

  He walked slowly up to the stand. “According to your personnel records, in fact, you were the person who was deemed mentally unstable,” the attorney said. “Let me read the exact words the police psychologist used in your fitness for duty evaluation, “Officer Alden has become psychologically impaired and it is our recommendation that he be restricted to desk duty. His behavior is obsessive, aggressive and compulsive. He is also showing minor signs of paranoia in regards to the work of his fellow officers.”

  The attorney looked up at Bradley. “Do you recall this evaluation?” he asked.

  “It was given to me approximately twelve months after the disappearance of my wife,” he said. “I had been searching for her on my off hours.”

  The attorney nodded. “Yes, the disappearance of your wife,” he said. “You stated that you were on duty that day and received a call of a break in. Is that correct?”

  Bradley nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you got to your home to find the house ransacked and your wife missing. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Your police chief held you back. He kept you from entering your home. Correct?”

  “That’s normal police procedure when the officer is personally connected to the crime,” Bradley explained.

  “Yes, normal police procedure,” the attorney reiterated. “And is it normal police procedure for your captain to ask you if your wife could have staged the break-in in order to escape from an unhappy marriage?”

  “We were not unhappy,” Bradley shouted. “We were happy. We were going to have a baby.”

  The attorney picked up another folder. “If your wife was so happy, why did she seek the counsel of a divorce lawyer a year before the break in?” he asked.

  Bradley took a deep breath. “We had some problems; work, scheduling, communication,” he said to the jury. “But after we saw Gary and Beverly’s marriage collapse, we decided we both needed to work harder on our relationship. When she disappeared we had no problems with our marriage. We were happy, thrilled that our baby was coming.”

  The attorney shrugged. “No problems that you were aware of, perhaps,” he said. “But did it ever cross your mind, even once while you searched for your wife, that she might have staged her disappearance? Remember, Chief Alden, you are under oath.”

  Bradley paused for a moment, and then slowly nodded. “Yes, it did cross my mind,” he said slowly. “But…”

  “That’s all I need to hear,” the attorney interrupted.

  “But…” Bradley began again.

  “That’s enough, Chief Alden,” he repeated.

  The attorney started sit down, then stopped and looked up. “Oh, one more thing, Chief Alden,” he said. “While you were searching for your wife for nearly eight years, you ran into some financial issues with your house payments. You were going to lose your home. Who helped you save your home? Who lent you money with no strings attached?”

  “Gary did,” Bradley admitted.

  “Gary did,” the attorney repeated. “And you accepted that money because you believed him to be a trusted friend. Isn’t that correct?”

  “I did, before he kidnapped my wife,” Bradley answered angrily.

  “Isn’t it possible, Chief Alden, that Jeannine felt he was a trusted friend too,” the attorney asked. “And went to him for protection and security when she wanted to escape her marriage to you?”

  “No!” he countered loudly. “She did not leave me for him. She was kidnapped. She was drugged and taken from our home.”

  The attorney turned fully and faced Bradley. “Once again, Chief Alden, do you have any evidence to back up these charges?” he asked, his eyebrow raised fractionally.

  Bradley looked frantically at Mary and Ian and saw the frustration in their faces.

  Nothing. I have nothing. The word of a ghost. Nothing to prove this in court.

  “No, I have no evidence,” he said slowly.

  “No further questions, your honor,” the attorney said.

  “Chief Alden,” the judge replied. “You may step down.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stanley unlocked his front door and cautiously pushed it open. Both he and Rosie peered around the door into the house and searched the room.

  “What are we looking for?” Rosie whispered into his ear.

  “Glowing lights,” Stanley said over his shoulder, “in the hallway.”

  Rosie stood on her tiptoes to peer over Stanley’s shoulder. “Isn’t it hard to see glowing lights in the daytime?” she asked.

  Stanley paused and then swung the door wide open. “Well, you didn’t have to make it sound so obvious,” he grumbled.

  She bit back a laugh. “I’m sorry, Stanley,” she said, stepping into the house behind him. “What would you suggest we do next?”

  Putting his hands on his hips, he looked around the house. It hadn’t been remodeled since Verda had died over fifteen years ago. The blonde wooden bookcase and television stand still held the RCA Victor television set they had purchased the Christmas before she died. A shelf of VCR tapes sat next to the aging VCR player and the small DVD player his children had bought him for Christmas a few years back still sat in the box, unopened, next to it.

  The cable box sat on top of the television, attached to the back by a series of connectors that modified the old hardware to communicate with the new. Even though it took the cable installer an hour to figure it out, Stanley told him he’d never have one of those new-fangled televisions that were thinner than a dinner plate in his home.

  Pictures of his family hung on the wall over the television. From their wedding photo in black and white, to the last photo he and Verda took with their children, grandchildren and even a great-grandchild, they illustrated the history of his life.

  He finally turned to Rosie, who stood waiting expectantly for his answer. “Guess I never stopped to really look at my house before,” he said. “Guess it seems like I stopped moving forward when Verda died.”

  Rosie wrapped her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, looking at the photos in front of them. “You have a lovely family,” she said. “And you should be proud of what you and Verda accomplished.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her closer and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

  Rosie stepped away and looked around the rest of the room. “Where did you say you saw her?” she asked.

  Stanley walked through the living room of the small ranch-style home into the kitchen. “Well, the first time, I was here at the sink,” he explained. “I was heating up some milk and helping myself to a piece of your strawberry-rhubarb pie. I saw a glowing figure move from the office to the bedroom.”

  “Was your office disturbed?” she asked. “Did it look like she was searching in there?”

  Looking a little embarrassed, Stanley hesitated.

  “What?” Rosie asked.

  Sighing, he held out his hand and, after taking hers, led her through the hall to the office. “As you can see,” he explained, as he switched on the light, “I don’t know if anybody could tell that someone was in here.”

  Gasping softly, Rosie looked around at the piles of papers, magazines, books and newspapers scattered around the room. “How do you ever find anything?” she asked.

  “I got a system,” Stanley grumbled. “Works just fine fer me.”

  Rosie turned and stared at him. “Stanley Wagner, you cannot tell me that Verda allowed you to have a room like this in her home,” she said. “I just won’t believe it.”

  Be
nding his head down, Stanley shuffled his foot for a moment. “Naw, she didn’t,” he confessed. “She would make me dig my space out regularly. Usually took me a couple of days to do it.”

  Shaking her head, Rosie turned and walked out of the room without saying a word. Stanley heard some rustling coming from the kitchen and in a moment Rosie was back with an empty garbage bag, a broom, a dust pan and a dust mop in her hands. “You have five days until we’re married,” she said, handing him the equipment. “You had better start cleaning now.”

  “But, but…what are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’ll tidy your kitchen, I’ll make your meals and I’ll even try and organize the other rooms in your home,” she said. “But you don’t stop working on this room except to eat and sleep until it’s clean.”

  “But how about television?” he asked. “The History Channel?”

  She sent him a sideways look. “No television until the work is done,” she declared. “And if you complain, I won’t make any desserts.”

  “But, Ver…, I mean Rosie,” he began.

  Placing her hands on her hips she stared at him for a moment. “And now I understand why she was haunting you,” she said before turning and walking out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A cold wind blew in the schoolyard and plastic grocery bags and newspapers were airborne as children dashed around them, making their way to the parked buses at the side of the schoolyard. Clarissa walked slowly through the playground. She knew that Mrs. Gunderson would be waiting in her car, an ancient Buick that spewed black smoke and smelled of old cigarettes and stale beer. But before the key was shoved into the ignition and the car coughed to life, Mrs. Gunderson would demand the envelope that contained her babysitting money. The envelope she no longer had.

  If she told Mrs. Gunderson the truth, there was a good chance she would go after the boys for the money. One of the boys was her nephew, after all, the same nephew who promised with a smile that if she told anyone, her mother would be killed. A shiver went through Clarissa’s body that had nothing to do with the cold. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, those young men would kill her mother without a second thought.