Loose Ends (18 page)

“They’re good friends, you’re lucky,” Bradley said.

Mary nodded. “Yes, they took me under their wings as soon as I moved to Freeport. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”

Bradley grinned. “I have a feeling you would have managed somehow.”

Mary chuckled. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun.”

Mary grabbed a couple diet colas and handed one to Bradley before she sat down in front of her computer.

“I’ve run criminal checks on the campaign staff members, and except for a couple of speeding tickets, they’re all clean,” Mary said, “I’ve also run preliminary checks on all of the other guests. Nothing stands out.”

“Well, just because they don’t have a criminal record doesn’t mean they can’t be our guy,” Bradley said, “Most serial killers were considered up-standing law abiding citizens before they were caught.”

“So, we have two cases, two unique cases,” Mary said, “One case involves the murder of one person, Renee, and another case involves the serial murders of at least five little girls, right?”

“Well, let me play devil’s advocate,” Bradley said, “What if they are connected? What if this is not just a big coincidence?”

“Yeah,” Mary agreed, “there are no such things as coincidences.”

“Right, so what do these cases have in common?”

Mary pulled out the files that listed the disappearances of the little girls.

“Okay, we have five deaths – if we count Jessica in the batch,” she said, “The dates of the disappearances are July 6
^th
, August 6
^th
, September 6
^th
and October 6
^th
. Election day that year was on November 6
^th
.”

“So, our killer’s cool-off period was about 30 days,” he said.

“It could mean that he couldn’t have been Renee’s killer because he had already killed Jessica.”

“Yes,” Bradley agreed.

“Or it could mean that he killed Renee for another reason, because she doesn’t fit his usual profile,” she added.

“Well, let’s see what else we find that might connect the two cases,” Bradley suggested, pulling half of the pile of papers towards him.

They worked quietly, examining each document carefully. After an hour Bradley got up and walked out to the kitchen. Mary stretched and looked over.

“I promised chili,” he said, “And I’m a man of my word.”

Mary smiled. “Are you sure? We could always just make sandwiches.”

He cocked his eyebrow at her. “Are you, perhaps, disparaging my cooking abilities?” he asked.

“No. Never. Perish the thought,” she laughed. “I’ll keep reading if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest.”

The homey kitchen sounds in the background were calming as Mary read the files and tried to get her mind around someone who could indiscriminately take the lives of those innocent children. She couldn’t get the picture of the little girls out of her mind. She knew they saved her life and the least she could do is help them move on.

She picked up the folder with the information about the children and flipped through the files until she found the child she was looking for. The little girl who had placed her hand on Mary’s arm was Lillian Johnson and she was from Gratiot, Wisconsin, just on the other side of the Illinois state line. Her parents had called her their little Lily. She had two siblings, both younger and she had been a little mom to both of them. Her parents’ statement said she would have never left her five year-old brother and three year-old sister alone in the backyard. She must have been forcibly removed. She disappeared on August 6, 1984.

Knowing her emotions might cloud her perception, Mary swapped that folder for the one with the Senator’s information. She flipped through his campaign itinerary until a date caught her eye.

“Wait a minute,” she said aloud.

“What is it?” Bradley stopped chopping peppers and walked over to where Mary was pushing through the papers, trying to find her legal pad.

“The dates, the dates that the girls ended up missing. What were they?” she asked.

“July 6
^th
, August 6
^th
, September 6
^th
, October 6
^th
and finally, November 6
^th
,” Bradley said, “Why?’

“Look at this,” Mary said, pointing to the itinerary. “August 6, 1984 – speaking engagement in Warren, Illinois – less than 10 miles from Gratiot where Lily was taken.

“And all of the other dates – all of the other months – speaking engagements in neighboring towns,” she said, pulling out the rest of the files and comparing them.

“It all leads us back to one man,” Bradley said.

“The Senator,” Mary supplied.

The Coroner’s Office was just a little bit larger than a closet and was housed in a corner of the lower level at the County Courthouse. The current coroner was actually one of the local funeral directors and rarely used his county office, but did most of his work from his mortuary. So, the office itself was just row upon row of file cabinets packed side by side in the small dim room.

Next to the Coroner’s Office was the County Clerk’s office, a large spacious area encompassing the rest of the lower level of the courthouse. It consisted of an open area with a counter that separated the clerks from the general public and six offices with glass walls that surrounded the open area.

Mary waved to the County Clerk as she entered the building and walked over to the counter to meet her. “Hi, Linda, Happy Monday,” she said.

The trim, dark-haired middle-aged woman groaned, “I need a weekend to recover from the weekend. What can I do for you?”

“I need to have some records pulled from the Coroner’s Office – a file that’s more than 24 years old. Do you know how I can get access to it?”

Linda Lincoln knew everything there was to know about Stephenson County. Mary had learned that Linda could have run the entire county single-handedly, but the entire county could not have run without Linda.

“Which file?” Linda asked.

“The autopsy report on Renee Peterson,” Mary replied.

“Why isn’t that the strangest thing,” she said slowly. “That file was taken from the courthouse last week. A junior clerk noticed the file drawer was open and saw that the folder was empty.”

Mary’s stomach dropped. Now what was she going to do?

“You’d think that someone didn’t want you to have that file Mary,” Linda continued. “But fortunately for you, I know that the coroner at that time had a real bad habit of losing files, so we always made duplicates of everything. I’m sure it’s in the vault. Why don’t we take a little walk together?”

Mary grinned as Linda grabbed her keys and made her way around the counter. “Have I mentioned lately how much I admire your style?” Mary asked.

Linda laughed. “You just always got to be one step ahead of the crooks, honey,” she said, “And then you’ve got it made.”

They walked to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a solid steel door. Linda inserted the key, turned the lock and pushed it open.

The vault was actually a large room surrounded by reinforced steel to protect all of the county’s records in case of fire. It had steel files cabinets standing side by side in aisles that were only about three feet apart.

“It gets a little tight in here,” Linda said as she walked down the third aisle. “But it’s as solid as Fort Knox.”

Linda found the correct cabinet and pulled open the drawer. She ruffled through the folders and finally pulled one out.

“Here you are, Renee Peterson, autopsy performed on November 7, 1984,” she said, “Do you need the whole file or just a part?”

“I’d like to look at the whole thing if I can,” Mary said, “But I’m mostly interested in the Toxicology report.”

“Sure,” Linda said, with a wink. “Why don’t we just run back to my office and I’ll make you a copy of everything. Then, when you return it, we can file it where the other one used to be.”

“Thanks, Linda,” Mary said, “You are a life saver.”

It always amazed Mary at the way little things like phone numbers seemed to stick in your memory, even after not using them for years. Once back at her office, she dialed the number that she had used weekly when she was a Chicago cop.

“Cook County Coroner, Wojchichowski,” the voice on the other end answered.

“Hey, Bernie, it’s Mary O’Reilly,” she said.

“Hey, little O’Reilly, how ya doing?”

Mary smiled. “I’m doing well,” she replied, “Although they don’t have any good Polish food in Freeport.”

“No kidding?” he said, “What kind of uncivilized place did you move to anyway?”

“I moved to Mayberry,” Mary said.

“You know, Aunt Bea was Polish,” Bernie said.

Mary laughed. “Yeah, I heard that.”

Bernie chuckled, “So, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a tox report I’d like you to look over, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, “It’s almost 25 years old.”

“Yeah, I was around back then,” he chuckled. “Sure fax it on over. I’ll take a look and call you back.”

“Thanks, Bernie, you’re the best,” she said.

“Well, kochanie, it’s because I’m Polish.”

“Are you swearing at me in Polish again?” Mary teased, knowing that kochanie meant sweetheart.

Bernie laughed, “Look it up, kochanie, look it up.”

“Bernie, thanks for doing this,” she replied.

“Hey, no problem,” Bernie said, “By the way, Mary, I got this nephew, nice kid, owns a bunch of apartment buildings. Want I should set the two of you up for a blind date?”

“Bernie, Bernie,” Mary called into the phone while slapping her hand against the mouthpiece. “There seems to be something wrong with our connection.”

Bernie laughed. “Yeah, just fax the report and we’ll talk.”

“Thanks, Bernie.”

After she faxed the report, she sat down at her desk and dialed another familiar number. She leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the corner of her desk.

“Hi, Dad, how are you doing?” she asked when her father picked up the phone.

She could picture her Dad sitting at the kitchen table in their spic and span kitchen. His blue eyes would be sparkling and there would be a smile on his face. He’d sit back in his chair and, if her mother wasn’t home, pop his feet up on the chair next to him.

“Hey, Mary-Mary, how is life in the country?” he asked. “How’s the ghostbusting business?”

“It’s good,” she said, running her hand over her cheek. “I had a run-in with a fort the other day – but I’m doing much better now.”

His deep chuckle cheered her. “I remember the time we were all downtown looking at the Christmas lights on State Street and you walked into a street sign,” he said, “As I recall, they had to replace the sign. So, did the fort come out better than the sign?”

“Oh, no, they had to call in some contractors to repair the damage,” she said, “Ma always said I had your hard head – I guess she was right.”

“So, what happened?” he asked.

“Well, if you must know, I was chasing a ghost,” she said, “Funny thing, the ghost had no problem running through the fort.”

“Mary, I hate to point this out, but ghosts don’t have bodies, lassie, they can do things like that.”

She laughed out loud. “I’ll try to remember that, Dad,” she said, “In my line of work, that’ll be helpful.”

“Are you sassing me, little lady?” he asked. Mary could picture his bushy eyebrows lifting.

She laughed again. “Oh, no, Dad,” she said, “You’d never hear a word of disrespect from these lips. That would be Sean or Patrick, not your sweet Mary.”

Bradley stood quietly in the doorway, listening to Mary’s side of the conversation. He didn’t want to interrupt her time with her dad. But as he listened to her side of the phone call, he couldn’t help but smile.

“No, Dad, everything’s fine,” she said, “I’m working on a great case. I’ll tell you about it next time we’re together.”

“Yes, I know, Thanksgiving’s just around the corner. I can’t wait.”

She paused and Bradley heard the soft sigh.

“I just wanted you to know that I love you,” she said softly. “You’ve always been the best Dad a girl could have.

“Okay, I will. Tell Ma that I love her too. I’ll try and call when she has a day off.

“Bye, Dad.”

She slipped her feet off the desk, carefully replaced the handset and rested her head in her hands.

She was worried
, Bradley thought, disappointed in himself that he hadn’t noticed it before.
That was a good-bye call.

“You are not going to die...again,” Bradley said.

Mary jumped. “Damn it, Bradley, would you please stop doing that to me. If I don’t get shot, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”

“You are not going to get shot,” he said, “You’re too smart for that.”

He motioned toward the door. “And since I’ve got a little extra time,” he said, “How about I turn your nice quiet door into an annoyingly squeaky one?”

“That would be great,” she said.

“It won’t be as much fun as scaring you,” he said, “But for you, anything.”

She smiled. “Thanks a lot.”

He walked over, sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and put the bag on the floor. “Your dad?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes, my dad,” she said, “Monday is his day off.”

“So, what’s got you spooked?”

“Well, other than being shot at twice and having someone break into my house?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I went to the Coroner’s Office this morning,” she said, “The original report from Renee Peterson’s autopsy was taken from the original file.”

“What?” Bradley sat forward. “Who took it?”

Mary shrugged. “No one knows, but obviously someone who has more access than the average citizen,” she replied. “I was lucky that Linda Lincoln, who is amazing by the way, knew where a copy of the report was stored. I just faxed it to an old friend at the Cook County Coroner’s Office for a review and he’ll be calling me back soon with his take on it.”