Authors: Victoria Houston
Lew raised a hand. “It’s not just Sherry—better police work might have changed things.”
“Still can,” said Lillie. “We need those pajamas, Chief. They may not have had DNA testing in those days—but we sure as hell do now.”
twenty-three
If you swear, you will catch no fish.
—Anonymous
Erin
was waiting in Lew’s office when they got back to the courthouse. She stood up as they walked in.
“Hey, Dad, Chief Ferris, thank goodness. I was afraid you’d be late. Ready, Chief? Let’s head out.” Erin tossed her long blonde braid back and gave Lew a cheerful smile. “Look,” she said, lifting an armful of flyers. “Got the van gassed up, these are ready, and it’s a lovely evening.” She headed for the door, then stopped.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’re not going.”
“I can’t,” said Lew. “Your father knows. I’ve got two major investigations going on and just got handed a third. A young woman’s life is in danger. Spending time on a political campaign right now—I’m afraid I just can’t justify it.”
Erin looked at Osborne, then back at Lew. The cheeriness faded. “Okay … then I’ll tell you what. I’ll go myself and hand out these flyers. Urge people to vote for you. Dad, why don’t you help me.”
“No,” said Lew. “I’m seriously considering with-drawing from the race. With the election less than six weeks away, it makes more sense to stop wasting my money and your time.”
“But, Chief, the opposition—you’ve got it made. Those two young guys from Rhinelander don’t have credentials close to yours. I’m sorry, but this is not smart. Look at the job. It pays twice as much, you will have the kind of operation that—that—you’ll be less stressed out than you are with this podunk setup.”
Lew threw her notebook on her desk. “This ‘podunk setup’ as you call it, Erin, is a job I happen to like, believe it or not. And right now, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Give Lew some time to think it over, Erin,” said Osborne, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Too much is happening right now.
“Oh, shit!” Erin thrust herself away from Osborne. As she left the room, she slammed the door behind her.
“Sorry, Doc, that’s the way it is.” Lew studied the list of messages that Marlene had left on her desk.
Osborne sighed. “I’ll talk to Erin. She’ll come around.”
After a dinner of leftover chili that he pulled out of the freezer, Osborne sat out on his deck, eyes closed, thinking over the day’s events. Mike, curled up next to his chaise lounge, was happy he was home. Knowing that Lew was in her office, up to her ears in paperwork, made Osborne feel guilty.
Five minutes after sitting down, he decided to get up. Through the leaves perforating his view of the sky, he could see popsicle-pink clouds overhead. He decided to let the sky win and headed down to the dock to practice casting with his fly rod.
With Mike alongside, he sauntered down to the water. He threaded the fly line, checked his leader and tippet, then tied on a small cork-bodied, frog-colored size ten popper he thought might appeal to a bluegill. He rollcast to get some line out. Then he backcast … and tugged.
“Great,” he said, looking back at the baby oak he had just caught. “You know, Mike, this is not what I want to do right now.”
Back up at the house, he called Erin. No one was home. He called Ray. No one there either. He left a message saying he hoped Ray could give him an address for Darryl Wolniewicz—but not to call after eleven. A wave of fatigue reminded him he’d gotten very little sleep the night before.
He went back onto the deck, back into his chaise, and picked up the
Loon Lake Daily News.
He read “Ask Hope.” The subject of the day was how to properly make a contribution to a charity instead of sending flowers to a funeral—yet be able to notify the family of what you did without being tacky. He folded the paper and closed his eyes.
When the phone rang, he woke to darkness. The house was as dark inside as out, as he hurried for the kitchen and his cordless phone. He checked the wall clock—ten p.m.
“Doc,” said Lew. “Sorry to bother you, but I just had a surprise visitor. Said she had to get something off her chest. Julia Wendt. Seems the nights that Kitsy said Julia was staying with her at her house? She wasn’t. Kitsy was behaving so strangely, Julia felt better spending her evenings up at the casino.”
“By herself?”
“That’s what she said. She said she returned when she was sure Kitsy had fallen asleep—only Sunday night she was not in her bedroom when Julia got back. I asked her if Kitsy had made any reference to the work she was doing for her mother. She said that Kitsy had indeed. She had been very upset and swore she hated her mother. Julia said she was feeling very uncomfortable around Kitsy right now.”
“Is she still over there?”
“No. She’s staying at the Claridge in Rhinelander.”
“Well,” Osborne asked, “what next? I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Bunny DeLoye yet. She’s likely to have seen some comings and goings, don’t you think?”
“I hope to see her first thing in the morning.”
“Any more news from Lillie?”
“No, but I checked to see if the GPS is working on that unit I gave Molly, and it appears she arrived safely back at Lillie’s.”
“I hope that means you can get a good night’s rest.”
“About ready to leave. I’ll check Pecore’s office for the evidence on the McBride case tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight. How’s Erin, Doc? I’m afraid I was too abrupt.”
“She’ll recover. Now get a good night’s sleep, will you please?”
“I promise. One last thing. Would you have the time to give that aunt of Molly’s a call in the morning? She lives in Edina, Minnesota. Here’s her number….”
twenty-four
Every man has a fish in his life that haunts him.
—Negley Farson
Osborne
woke to heaviness in the air. A stop-start patter of rain outside the bedroom window encouraged sleeping in. He resisted, pushed himself out of bed, and let Mike out the back door. Thankful that he had remembered to set the timer on the coffeemaker before going to bed, he poured a cup, then walked back to turn on the TV and check the weather channel.
As usual, the forecast appeared to be for another country, if not another continent. Sunshine was predicted in spite of the evidence outside the window: legions of surly clouds pressed in from the west, darkening the lake.
Osborne turned away from the window. This would be one of those northwoods days with rain moderating from heavy to pounding and back to heavy. The kind of day tourists cursed: twelve hours indoors face-to-face with your kids? God help us.
That made it Osborne’s turn to curse. The families would head for town, swarming Main Street and the Loon Lake Market and letting their little stinkers scamper from the market over to Ralph’s Sporting Goods and back again. Parents would lose patience and back their SUVs into one another in the parking lots: more work for the already stressed Loon Lake Police Department.
Osborne checked the time. Was seven-fifteen too soon to call someone you don’t know? Hell, if they weren’t up by now, they should be. He punched in the number for Molly’s aunt.
A woman’s voice answered immediately. “Hello, this is Georgia.”
“Georgia Balczer? This is Dr. Paul Osborne from Loon Lake, Wisconsin. I’m calling on a matter that concerns your niece, Molly. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
A sudden intake of breath—“Molly! Is she all right?”
“She’s fine—but we have a situation here. The head of our police department, Lewellyn Ferris, has asked me to check on a few details from the past.”
“You’re the police?” He hated the sound of worry crowding into her voice.
“Personally, I’m part-time. I retired from my dental practice up here several years ago and help out on occasion as a deputized officer—that’s what I’m doing this morning, if you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least. You caught me as I was walking out the door for work, but take your time. Anything to do with Molly comes first. Tell you the truth, I’ve been worried ever since she told me she was returning to Loon Lake.”
“Why is that?”
“You know her family was murdered years ago.”
“That’s one reason I’m calling.”
“So much about that crime was unresolved. For me, anyway. I’m not sure Loon Lake is the place for Molly. You know my husband and I raised her.”
“Yes. And you folks are familiar with the man she married?”
“
Ohhh,
yes. Jerry O’Brien. We’re not happy about it either. Such an extreme age difference. Not to mention his connection to … well, to circumstances I’d always hoped Molly could put behind her.”
“How well do you know Mr. O’Brien?”
“He was Molly’s dad, Patrick’s, best friend. And he’s the one who found the bodies. Over the years, he’s stayed in touch and has gone out of his way to look after Molly….” She paused, then asked, “May I speak in confidence, Dr. Osborne? What I mean is, can I tell you some things that Molly doesn’t know—and can you promise me this won’t get back to her unless there is a very good reason for it?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Osborne.
“She doesn’t know that Jerry paid the bills for her college and graduate school. We didn’t ask—he volunteered—on the condition that she never be told.”
“So the marriage surprised you?”
“To put it mildly. Dr. Osborne, do you have daughters?”
“Two.”
“How would you feel if one married a man thirty years her senior—a man who had played such a role in her life, whether she knew about it or not? And she did this less than three months after being dumped by a young man her own age with whom she had been living with for two years?”
“I would think she acted on the rebound and made a serious mistake. And you make O’Brien sound like a creep … frankly.”
The line was silent, then Georgia said, “Well, nothing to do about it now.”
“Georgia, does the name Lillie Wright ring a bell? The reason I’m asking is she has some strong opinions on Molly’s situation—”
“Of course I know Lillie. The woman is a godsend. She got us through that terrible time, and she’s been handling Molly’s inheritance. She’s the one who encouraged us not to sell her parents’ house after it had stayed on the market so long that first time around. She told us the value of lakefront property would skyrocket and, boy, was she right. Molly has something now.
“Whatever Lillie says, pay attention. I still get goose bumps when I think of what she told us back then.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. She knew from the beginning what was going to happen. It was eerie. You see, we got the news midmorning that terrible day and jumped right in our car. Within four hours, my husband and I were there to help with Molly.”
“How was she when you got there?”
“Pretty calm. Remember, she was only three years old. As far as I know, she has no memories of that weekend—although we never brought it up either.”
“This may be a difficult question,” said Osborne. “We understand that Molly was sexually assaulted—”
“That’s what they said at the time. But we had her examined when we got back here, and he found no indication of that. I’m an oncology nurse, Dr. Osborne. I know what to look for, and I saw no indication that Molly had been hurt. So that was strange. But there were other things that didn’t make sense.”
“For example?”
“As you know, Jerry and Patrick worked together. Jerry ran the newspaper and after meeting Patrick at a newspaper convention, hired him to be the managing editor. So when Patrick didn’t show up for work that Monday and no one answered the phone at their house, Jerry drove over there. That’s when he looked through a window, saw my sister’s body, and called the police.
“Now what I’m going to tell you next is what I was told by a young police officer who was standing outside the house when the bodies were found. He said two officers went in. They found the bodies, and they found Molly alive. Since Jerry was a friend of the family’s, they decided to have him be the person to help with Molly. They asked him to wait outside the house, on the sidewalk leading up to the front porch.
“What was weird, said the young officer who was standing right beside Jerry, was that when they carried Molly out of the house, they set her down on her feet. She saw Jerry and ran towards him. He went down on one knee, held out his arms, and
made an awful face at her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Twisted his face, the way you do when you want to scare someone.”
“And Molly’s reaction?”
“No one noticed. I asked the same question but no one was watching her—they were all waiting to see what was in the house. It was that one young police officer who couldn’t believe what Jerry did.
“Think about it, Dr. Osborne. Why would you do that to a child who has just been through a traumatic experience? Make a horrible face. I have never figured that out. By the way, that same police officer told me later that from where Jerry had said he was standing to look in the window—
you couldn’t see Janet’s body.”
“No one questioned that? Not the chief of police?”
“No, only that young man. In fact, he and Lillie Wright were the only two who felt that the police arrested the wrong person when they put that boy in jail.”
“Do you remember the police officer’s name?”
“If I did, it wouldn’t help. He was shot and killed six months later. They found his body by his car out at a boat landing somewhere.”
“Let’s go back to Lillie for a moment,” said Osborne.
“Yes. We first met with her two days after the bodies were found. We needed someone locally to help us with the legalities of the estate and Molly’s guardianship.
“That’s when she told us she was convinced it was a gay revenge murder. What she said next, I will never forget. Her exact words were: ‘Some kid from the wrong side of the tracks will be charged, he’ll die in jail before coming to trial, and the cops will clean off their desks.'”
“'And the cops will clean off their desks'?” Osborne repeated what she said. “I’m not sure what that means.”