Dead Renegade (7 page)

He could recall only that there had been a child, Rita’s child by another man. A girl. Deer hunters had found the little body frozen, the collarbone fractured and evidence of other bruises on the arms and legs. The kid had run from her mother’s house in the dead of winter. No jacket even.

Bobby’s defense lawyer had alleged his client was framed by the former girlfriend, that Rita was an abusive parent, and managed to get him a reduced sentence on a charge of battery to a child, but people who knew Bobby knew better. They knew.

After all, Bobby Schradtke was a habitual offender going back to his early teens. He had launched his career by running away to join a carnival, but he was soon arrested for robbery and sent home. This sparked years of arrests for theft, possession of burglary tools, stealing cars, and two episodes of attempted sexual assault on a minor. It was an arrest for distributing crack cocaine on tribal lands that won him his most recent sentence—eight years and four months. But now, in his early forties, Bobby was a free man.

“So this town’s gone soft,” Bobby was saying. “Hell, that’s good for my business.”

“What do you mean?” said Kenny. “Hard as hell to make a living up here still. Been this way for years.”

“Can’t believe you got a broad as chief of police. Now that’s what I call sweet. Sweet and easy.”

“What exactly did you hear?” Ron asked, blowing cigarette smoke towards an open window. “That lady’s been around a couple years now. She’s tough. I seen her kneecap a couple drunks my size. I would not call her ‘sweet.’“

“Had a meeting this morning with my parole officer and she was there. Kept quiet. Didn’t say much. A couple other guys got paroled were there, too, so we were about six of us altogether. We got the rules read, the usual shit,” said Bobby with a shrug of indifference.

“The way I see it,” said Bobby, spreading his hands as if he had a map laid out in front of him, “Loon Lake’s got a female cop and that by my standards makes for easy pickings.” A spider laugh. “Ron, you and me, we got work to do. I’ll show you how to double the dough you’ve been making breaking your butt with all that logging—”

Kenny felt an urgent need to leave the room. Leave now or you’re an accomplice, he told himself.

“Speaking of logging,” said Ron, straightening up in his chair and motioning with his hand for Kenny to join the conversation, “Kenny and I got a …
dilemma
… we’d like to discuss with you. Gotta problem with this joker by the name of Calverson …”

“Yeah? Hold that thought—gotta see a man about a horse,” said Bobby, getting to his feet. Ron had relaxed into the chair next to Kenny with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. As Bobby walked by, he gave his brother’s feet a swift kick with the toe of one pointed cowboy boot.

Kenny could see from Ron’s face that the kick both hurt and embarrassed him in front of Kenny. Ron squinted as he rubbed an ankle. He stared at the bathroom door until it closed, then said in voice that sounded like a curse: “Welcome home, big brother.”

Minutes later, with Bobby back on the sofa twisting the cap off another beer, Ron recounted their morning confrontation with Curt Calverson. “So?” Bobby rolled a toothpick across his lips as he mulled over Ron’s story. “Whaddya want exactly—the money? Or hurt the guy?”

“Both,” said Ron.

“Just the money,” said Kenny. “No trouble.”

“Ah,” said Bobby, “no trouble, no fun.”

Kenny shook his head and said, “Count me out, you two. All I want is to get paid for the work I did. I’ll take fifty cents on the buck.”

Bobby laughed, “No, you won’t. You’ll get a hundred percent of what you’re owed. Leave it to me. Now I’ll tell you what, you two. Give me a couple a days. Gotta check in with some guys I know. Kenny, don’t you worry.” Bobby shook an index finger at him. “I did eight years and don’t plan to do a day more. You’re talkin’ to a smart guy.”

“Just keep me out of it if you got trouble in mind,” said Kenny, repeating himself as he got to his feet. “Gotta go, fellas, got dogs to feed.”

CHAPTER
10

O
sborne pulled to the curb behind the police cruiser parked in front of the Nystrom Antiques Emporium. A “Closed” sign hung at an angle on the front door, which was locked. Osborne rapped twice but no one came. He peered past the sign, but the interior of the shop was in shadow.

Remembering that Bart’s office was in the back, he hurried down the sidewalk that ran along the side of the building towards a back entrance. That door was open. Without knocking, he stepped inside what must have been a back porch before the house was converted to a store. Now it was a storeroom for cleaning supplies. A door at the top of a short stairway opened into a small kitchen that held a coffee machine and an old refrigerator. “He-l-l-o-o, Chief Ferris? Bart?” said Osborne in a loud voice.

No answer. He walked through the kitchen to the shop’s interior. Off to the right was a hallway at the end of which he could see Bart’s office. The lights were on in the office but the room was empty.

It dawned on Osborne they must be in the basement. Turning around, he walked back down the hall and into the darkened shop. The door to the basement stairs stood open and beyond it he could see light. “Chief Ferris? Bart?” Just as he called out, Lew dashed up the basement stairs.

“Doc, thanks goodness you’re here. Boy, do I need your help this afternoon. Pecore was called down to Madison this morning. They’re re-opening a rape case from 1988 for DNA testing, and he had to drive the evidence boxes down.

“Let me re-phrase that—the idiot isn’t sure which is the right box, so he’s taking everything he’s got from 1988 and hoping the crime lab officials don’t notice how he’s compromised the integrity of the Loon Lake Police Department with his lousy attention to the chain of custody. If I’m lucky, they won’t be fooled and he’ll be suspended for—”

Lew’s face was flushed, her eyes sparking with frustration as she rushed her words. Under normal circumstances, Osborne would have relished the moment: every time he saw her coming towards him, it felt like the first time. The lively face, nut brown from the sun under a cap of short dark curls, the eyes frank, the mouth quick to smile. And the body—she wasn’t a small woman, but broad-shouldered and slightly wide in the hip with a frame that was strong and fit. Yet sturdy as Lewellyn Ferris might appear, she had a body that could curve soft as a whisper into his.

But these were not normal circumstances and all he could see beyond his worry was hope that Lew could help him help Mason.

He felt himself listening from a distance as Lew said, “—I’ve got another meeting at three and I’m trying like the dickens to get out of the office by four-thirty so I have time to shower and change before catching up with the reunion crowd. But, Doc, what you found here is disturbing. And you’re right—we have a victim, not some museum piece.

“Did you notice the tag on that rug said it came from the Bobcat Inn?”

Lew’s eyes widened with excitement and she spoke so fast Osborne couldn’t get a word in. “That was old Abner Conjurski’s place. He disappeared long before I joined the force, but I’ve seen the file. The Loon Lake police never did know what happened.”

Planting both hands on her hips, Lew said, “I have to wonder if those aren’t poor old Abner’s remains down there. Y’know? So, Doc, I’ll call the Wausau Crime Lab and let them know it’s not an emergency but we need their help as soon as they can work us in. Meanwhile, I’m deputizing you to secure the scene better than what we’ve got right now and arrange to meet—”

“No.” Osborne put up a hand to stop her. “No, Lewellyn. I … leant do that.”

Lew paused, her mouth open in surprise. Her eyes searched his face, “What’s wrong? Oh … Doc, you look like someone died. What is it—are you alright?” She held her breath and reached out to take his arm as if expecting to hear the worst.

Osborne couldn’t speak. He shook his head and tried to get a few words out but all he could manage was a choked, “Um, Mason. I think she may have been …” His voice was a whisper as he managed to say, “… molested. This morning.”

“Oh-h, no,” said Lew, exhaling the words. The distress that flooded her face he hoped never to see again in his lifetime. “Is she hurt?”

“I—I, that’s what—I don’t know. That’s why … Lew, I need your help.” He could feel his eyes brimming.

“Bart!” Lew turned to shout down the stairwell. “I have an emergency. I’m taking over your office. Door closed. Not sure how long.” She grabbed Osborne’s left hand and pulled him back through the shop to the small office where she closed the door, pulled two chairs together and motioned for him to sit.

“Wait,” she held up one hand as he started to speak and reached for the cell phone she wore in a holster next to the .9mm Sig Sauer. “Marlene, cancel that three o’clock appointment I have, would you, please? It’s another one of those probation reviews, and they’ll have to reschedule. Tell them I have a felony assault to deal with and I’ll be in touch when I can.”

Lew tucked the phone away, turned her chair so she was facing Osborne, took both his hands in hers and eyes fixed on his said, “Tell me what you know. Take your time. First, though, where’s Mason now?”

“She’s home, she seems okay but she won’t tell us—”

“I’m not surprised. Children often have a hard time telling what happened when they’ve been badly frightened.”

“That’s what Mallory said—”

“Start at the beginning, Doc …”