Dead Renegade

by Victoria Houston

  “She is a sweet kid,” said Osborne. “Just a nice, good-hearted young woman. Speaking of good-hearted women, Lewellyn, are we ever going to have some time alone? How ‘bout we call it quits at ten and you spend the night at my place?”

  She laughed. “Nice try, Doc. Thanks, but not tonight.” She chuckled at the crestfallen look on his face. “Tomorrow night works. How’s that? I’m taking the day off, working in my garden, and if you’d like, we could take the canoe and our fly rods out on the lake tomorrow evening—catch some bluegills and enjoy a late dinner?”

  “O-o-o-kay,” said Osborne, wheedling. “What if we find the files right away? Would that change things?”

  She punched him in the arm. “See you at the station, Doc.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “We need a better system,” said Lew, complaining as she sorted through one of the boxes that they had hoisted onto a long table at one end of the storeroom. “They’ve stuck everything in here from traffic citations to runaway dogs, for gods sake. The list on the front is worthless—tells you what months are in here and nothing else. Sorry, Doc, this is going to take longer than I thought.”

  “My box has a good list,” said Osborne, glancing over at her. “Alphabetical. You must have had different people organizing these?”

  “The mayor made us hire one of his nieces. I think she got her training from Pecore: how to do nothing while getting paid.”

  Osborne pushed the box in front of him to one side. “Nothing Conjurski-related in June. I’ll check July.” He leaned over the next box. “Decent list here,” he said and thumbed along for about five minutes. He felt happy working under the fluorescent lights with the sound of Lew’s soft breathing nearby. “Got one and it’s thick.”

  He handed the file with a small stack of papers inside it to Lew. “Oh, no this isn’t about Abe disappearing,” she said. “This is a break-in at his restaurant.”

  According to the reports in the file, the break-in at the Bobcat Inn was one of seven that occurred around Loon Lake duringjune and July of that month—and always with the thief or thieves cutting rooftop holes to gain entry. Small businesses were targeted: Moen’s Beauty Shop, Birch Bark and More, Taege’s Drug Store, Mclssac’s Books, Leo’s Sporting Goods, Little Rock Tavern and the Bobcat Inn.

  Items taken were cash, cigarettes, three tackle boxes, fishing lures, cases of beer, a medical bag with a stethoscope and—from the drug store—condoms. The burglary tools were basic: a handsaw and an ax. The burglar or burglars were never apprehended, but the Bobcat Inn was the last of the break-ins that summer.

  Lew looked up from the file, “Doc, you know what’s curious here? That break-in that Roger handled earlier today at the Dog House Tavern? Whoever it was used a handsaw and ax to enter. They took cash, cigarettes, an iPod and a laptop computer.”

  Doc moved his chair close to Lew so he could read over her shoulder as she shuffled through the pages of the police report from the Bobcat. “Look, Abe is still around at this point,” said Osborne. “They have his account of finding the cash register smashed. Oh … look at that—whoever it was broke all the glasses he played his tunes on. What a sonofabitch. To me, that makes it sound like it was somebody who knew Abe. Sheer meanness.”

  “Get this, Doc,” said Lew, pointing to the typed report describing the location and other employees interviewed after the break-in. “Bobby Schradtke was working for Abe at the time of the break-in. I sat in on his probation hearing the other day. That guy is a habitual offender. He’s done time for stealing cars, burglaries, possession of burglary tools, aggravated assaults—and that’s before this last sentence for distributing crack cocaine.

  “Going back to his teen years, he was one mean son of a gun. Before he quit school, he beat up a shop teacher—broke his nose and three ribs.”

  “I remember reading all the news stories during Schradtke’s trial,” said Osborne, “but I never knew he worked at the Bobcat Inn. Does that report say what he did there?”

  “Dishwasher. He had been arrested for several burglaries and after serving six months, qualified for work release—that’s how Abe had hired him. Interesting, huh. Oh … get this—after the break-in at the Bobcat, they searched the trailer where Bobby was living and found axes, a handsaw and a chainsaw, which he claimed he used for logging. Didn’t look good, but hardly proof that he was the burglar.

  “Okay, let’s keep searching for that missing persons report on Abe. Has to be in one of these next two boxes.”

  Twenty minutes later, they gave up. “I don’t understand,” said Lew, throwing her hands in the air. “There should be something here.”

  Osborne checked his watch. It was nine fifteen. “Let me make a quick call to Jack Jarvis, Lew. I noticed on my dental charts that he was Abe’s physician and he’s a good friend of mine. I don’t think it’s too late to give him call. Let me see if he remembers the situation then. Is it okay to mention that we’ve identified Abe’s remains?”

  Lew nodded an approval.

  “Jack?” said Osborne a moment later. “Sorry to call so late. Chief Ferris and I have a question for you. The Wausau Crime Lab helped us identify some skeletal remains that were found recently—Abe Conjurski. As I recall, you were his physican, weren’t you?”

  “I was. This is interesting, Doc, I’ve always wondered what happened to old Abe. He dropped off the face of the earth one day and that was that. Where’d you find the bones—in the woods somewhere?”

  “Not exactly,” said Osborne. “At this point, let me just say we think it might be foul play. Tell you more when it’s official.”

  “Really sorry to hear that. But, you know, Abe was not a well man after his wife died. He put himself in harm’s way. You recall that, don’t you?”

  “I remember well. What we’re trying to figure out is exactly when he disappeared and why there is no missing persons report in the police files—at least none we can find so far.”

  “You know, Paul,” said Jack after a thoughtful pause. “I doubt there ever was one. I remember speaking to Abe’s second cousin around that time. We figured he was likely on the skids somewhere—Madison or Milwaukee maybe. The drinking had reached a point, he was killing himself The one family member I dealt with really didn’t know the man and wanted nothing to do with a drunk. Also, I think that Abe had run up enough debt that they wanted to keep their distance from any fall-out that could cost them.”

  “Do you remember a break-in at the Bobcat Inn?”

  “Now that you mention it, I do. Tell you why I remember—Abe called me that day to say he’d be late paying on the medical bills from his wife’s death. He had all his receipts from Friday night fish fry in the cash register that night. He never did pay me.”

  “So maybe that’s about the time he disappeared?”

  “Could be. Sure enough, the more I think about it. I never had another meal out there either. I would bet you anything that you’ll find a tax record a few years later that assumes he passed away. Not missing. Just presumed deceased. That doesn’t help much. He must have had lawyer who might know. Maybe check with the town clerk and see if you can locate the estate notice after his wife’s death? He would have needed a lawyer for that.”

  “Thanks, Jack.”

  Off the phone, Osborne shared Jack’s comments with Lew. “Well, let’s call it a night, Doc,” she said, heaving a sigh. “I’ll give you a call after I finish my gardening tomorrow.”

  His phone rang at six a.m. the next morning. It was Lew. Osborne leaned up on his pillow. “You’re up early. Got the garden all set?”

  “I wish. Sorry if I woke you, but I just had a call from Roger. He worked the night shift and he’s reporting on two more break-ins that occurred during the night—both times the thieves cut through the roofs with an ax and a handsaw. They hit Bob’s Firestone and Family Video.

  “A woman walking her dog saw two men leave the back door of Family Video and get into an old convertible they had parked across the street in the Loon
Lake Market parking lot. This was three a.m. Not a lot of cars in the parking lot. She called it in about five minutes later, which was too late—but you know what I’m thinking? Somebody’s back in town and we should have a little talk.”

  “Bobby Schradtke owns an old Ford Sunliner—sort of an orange-red color.”

  “That fits. The woman thought it was reddish-brown, but it was too dark for her to be sure. Just strikes me that those break-ins years ago stopped right around the time he was sent up the river. And a little too coincidental that he happened to be working for one of the places that got robbed. Given his arrest record, I’m dropping in on Mr. Schradtke this morning.”

  “No gardening?”

  “Later. This Schradtke connection is bugging me.”

  “Lew, you need a day off. Can’t it wait until Monday?”

  “One hour in town isn’t much. I need to determine if I’ve got probable cause for getting a search warrant.”

  “Just one thing, Lew—under no circumstances do you cancel our evening.”

  “I hear you. I promise.”

  Osborne shook his head as he hung up. He’d believe it when he saw her.

  CHAPTER 23

  You don’t look happy,” said Osborne as he opened the driver’s side door to help Lew climb out of her truck. “But you do look great. Love the outfit.”

  “Thought you’d like it,” she said with a rueful grin. She was wearing the new khaki fishing shorts and fly fishing shirt he had given her for her birthday. He liked the shirt in particular. Tucked in so it enhanced the curve of her breasts, the shirt had a way of reminding him of pleasant evenings, past and future.

  “A disappointing day,” Lew said. “But maybe seeing you and spending a little time on the water will improve my mood.”

  “I promise you it will and now—if you’ll grab your fly rod, I’ll get your gear and we’ll head down to the dock,” said Osborne. “I have the canoe ready with a few surprises inside.”

  As they rounded the house towards the walk down to the water, Osborne noticed her face had fallen. “Lew, what has you so down? Too much time around Mr. Schradtke?”

  “Quite the contrary. He wasn’t at his mother’s, which is where he is supposed to be living. She didn’t know where he might be and, in fact, had not seen him since he left yesterday afternoon with his brother, Ron, and a friend of theirs. ‘Off to drown a worm’ is what they told their mother. You believe that?”

  “No sign of his car I take it?”

  “Nope. Nothing. No basis on which to get a search warrant to search his mother’s house. That’s for sure. Kind of a dead end.”

  “Has he violated his parole by not being there?”

  “Tough call. I asked his mother to call me when he shows up. We’ll see. The woman definitely shows signs of dementia. Then Ray called. They located the boat that hit C.J.’s jet ski. It had been abandoned two lakes up the chain—pulled up on shore near an empty cabin. I’ve got Todd checking it for prints but I doubt we’ll find much. Ray said it looked like whoever it was wiped it down before leaving it.

  “He stopped by the resort that owns the boat. Because it’s their ski boat, they keep it full of gas and ready for use on these summer afternoons. Their ski instructor was on his lunch hour when it was stolen. Some kids who were swimming said they saw a pickup drive down to the dock and drop off the guy who took it.”

  “Can they identify him?” asked Osborne.

  “Ray wasn’t sure. They’re little kids—six year olds. Not the best eyewitnesses, but then the worst witness is the eyewitness anyway. Haven’t I learned that the hard way.”

  “Well, sweetheart,” said Osborne, slinging one arm across her shoulders as they walked down to the canoe that was tied to the dock, “are we ready to set work aside and enjoy the evening?” He held the canoe steady for her to climb in.

  Seconds later, they were gliding over the water. The frustration clouding Lew’s features gave way as she scanned the surface for signs of feeding insects. These were the moments Osborne loved to watch—the dark beauty of her eyes, the excitement she radiated as she rigged up her fly rod and puzzled over the absolute correct dry fly that might entice a trusting bluegill.

  “I thought we’d go up a new ‘secret passage’ this evening,” he said, using the phrase his daughters had coined to name the small, lovely streams that fed into Loon Lake from the surrounding wetlands. “I’ve never taken you up this one stream that runs down from the northwest. For once, the water is high enough for us to scoot through the culvert that runs under Dragon Fly Road. Good cold water up there.”

  “You’re in charge, Doc,” said Lew, resting her paddle across the bow of the canoe as he paddled. The evening was still. Only a hint of a breeze—more like breath on a pane of glass. A great pink sun was beginning its descent in the west. “I love the colors in the sky right now,” she said, her voice relaxed and soft. “Lavender and mauve.”

  “Mauve?” said Osborne.

  “Mauve—I had an aunt, my mother’s sister, who was an English teacher, and that was one of her favorite words. She wrote poetry.”

  A shriek from somewhere ahead pierced the calm. Lew straightened up. Osborne stopped paddling. “Sounds like a great horned owl just scored a rabbit,” said Osborne.

  “Listen,” said Lew. “Hear the splashing?” As she spoke two kayakers paddling furiously came into view. A man and a woman whom Osborne guessed to be in their forties. They wore swimming suits and baseball caps and appeared to be out for an evening of leisurely kayaking—except for the terror on both their faces.

  “Excuse me,” said the man in the front kayak. “Do either of you have a cell phone? We have to call the police.”

  “I am the police,” said Lew, “Lewellyn Ferris—I’m with the Loon Lake Police Department. What’s wrong?”

  “We found part of a dead body,” said the man, taking off his baseball cap and wiping sweat from his forehead. “My wife did. She looked in this pail back there. It’s awful—”

  “Back where? How far back?” said Osborne.

  “Back not too far, around a couple bends,” said the wife. “Just … a head. I mean the thing in the pail is a human head.” She choked as if trying hard not to throw up.

  “Wait here for us, will you, please?” asked Lew. “No, wait, why don’t you paddle out onto the lake, and about halfway down the shoreline you’ll see a light pine shed close to the water. Dr. Osborne’s dock is to the left of that. Please paddle down there and wait for us.”

  “The door off the deck is open if you need anything,” said Osborne, “and the dog in the yard is friendly.”

  “And, please, don’t call anyone until we return,” said Lew. “We don’t need everyone glued to their police scanners crowding into Dr. Osborne’s driveway.”

  Two bends later, they came upon an ancient railroad trestle over which ran a snowmobile trail. Hanging off a large nail hammered into one of the wooden supports was a beat-up metal minnow bucket with its lid tipped to one side.

  Osborne edged the canoe close to the minnow bucket and Lew got up onto her knees to peer in. “Oh …” she said and backed away fast. “Doc, your turn.”

  Staring down, Osborne wondered if Bobby Schradtke’s eyes were colder in death than in life. He doubted it.

  CHAPTER 24

  Not even the rocking chair squeaked as Edna Schradtke sat hunched and silent with her eyes closed. A slight shake of the rosary beads clutched in one gnarled hand was the only movement. Osborne and Lew sat on the sofa to her right, waiting.

  Finally she tipped her head slightly to the right and said, “Chief Ferris … tell me how it happened. Was he beaten? You know,” she took a deep breath, “his father beat him as a boy. Is that how he died?”

  “We don’t know,” said Lew, answering the question for the third time. She remained patient. “I have officers at the scene gathering what evidence we can find, and when we know, I’ll tell you. Right now, it is critical that we find your other son, Ron. As far a
s we know, the two of you are the last people to have seen Bobby.

  “Ron may be able to help us find out who killed your son—or he may be in danger himself Please try to remember if they mentioned where they were going, who they were with …”

  The old woman rocked slightly in her chair. “People don’t understand Bobby. I’m leaving him the house, you know.” She opened her eyes and gazed around the room. “He’ll be happy here.”

  “Edna,” said Osborne, getting to his feet and walking over to place a hand on her shoulder, “do you have other family members we can call to help you out this evening? You need someone here. Now. We can’t leave you like this.”

  “For heaven sakes, why?” she said. “No family. My brother died last year. But I’m fine. The boys will be home any minute. They take care of me just fine.”

  “Who lives next door, Edna?” asked Osborne, realizing the woman’s short-term memory was hopeless. Likely the shock of hearing of Bobby’s death didn’t help, even though Lew deliberately withheld the details. “Do you know your neighbors?”

  “Of course, I know my neighbors. June Fisher is a dear friend. You know, she lost her husband just a few months ago.”

  Lew motioned to Osborne and left the living room. He heard the front door close, followed by a murmur of voices. He waited as Edna rocked back and forth, humming. Then he heard the sound of the door opening, and Lew walked back into the room along with a tiny, older woman in a light green bathrobe, her white hair in pink curlers.

  “Mrs. Schradtke,” said Lew, “June is here to help you out. Maybe you should stay at her place tonight?”

  “I heard the sad news about Bobby, hon,” said the neighbor, bending over Edna. She glanced up at Lew and Osborne. “Edna’s short term memory has been a problem for quite a while, Chief Ferris. We keep an eye on her whenever Ron is gone. I’ll see what we can do for her this evening.”