Death's Door Read online

  Chapter 17

  Friday dawned with a clear sky and a fresh smell in the air. Temperatures in the mid-seventies were predicted. That was the forecast for the whole weekend. We had a leisurely breakfast at the hotel and decided to spend the day trying to turn over some rocks. You never knew what would crawl out.

  As we were getting ready to head out the phone rang. It was the Green Bay police... a sergeant Larch. Snark was requesting Rosie’s presence as soon as possible. We changed our schedule for the day and headed there first. On the way, we discussed whether I should join her. She left it up to me. I decided I would, and I’d still stick with Iverson’s original story but tell him everything else... well, almost. Snark was going to discover the connection somewhere along the way… so why not now? If he was worth anything he probably already suspected. A PI is found unconscious and then a detective from Chicago shows up and leaves a cryptic message. That has to start the wheels turning.

  We were escorted to his office. Rosie went in first. He started to stand and then saw me and started to laugh.

  “Well that explains a lot.” He said hello to Rosie and held a hand out to the chairs in front of his desk. “What’s the story today?”

  “It’s a long story,” Rosie said. “And I’d rather not repeat it. You want to have someone take notes?”

  He took in a deep breath, sighed, and keyed his intercom. “Marge, will you find me a stenographer, please?” She said she would. An Officer Stillman arrived in two minutes and sat in the corner. He was as big as a house. Not exactly the stereotype for a stenographer.

  Rosie talked for the next twenty minutes, starting with Stosh’s murder. She told him about the Maxwells in St. Charles and the Freys in Appleton.

  He looked skeptical. “And you think this all has something to do with the adoption agency, so your friend here broke in?”

  “I didn’t—”

  He held up a hand. “Yeah, I know. For the moment let’s accept that broke in is easier to say than was following someone and the door was open when you got there.” He turned back to Rosie.

  “It’s sure a possibility. The pieces point in that direction, and there was also a break-in several months ago that wasn’t reported.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “A source who’d like to remain unnamed for the moment.”

  “Uh huh.” He looked at me. “And when you broke in you got the names you just told me about?”

  “Correct, and one more. There were four names on the folder besides the birth mother. The fourth family is Harold and Claudia Bell here in Green Bay.”

  “And you’re just letting me know this now?”

  “We just put it together last night. We called St. Charles and Appleton and you. And here we are.”

  Snark stood up and walked to the window. He looked out with his arms crossed on his chest. When he turned back his look had changed from skeptical to sad.

  “I’m sorry about Lieutenant Powolski. That doesn’t cover it, but those are the only words I have.” The sad look changed to serious and was aimed at me. “Manning, as much as I’d like to nail you to the wall, I’d have to agree that there is something to your story. It’s at least worth looking into. Bullets match?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “Well that probably ties those two together.”

  “Probably?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Probably. But maybe the gun was stolen after the first murder and used to commit another.”

  “Who just happen to be people who used the same adoption agency?”

  He picked up a pack of Marlboros, tapped the end, and pulled out a cigarette. He stuck it between his lips and continued talking without lighting it.

  “Stranger things have happened. I’m saying probably… 99 percent.”

  “Jesus.” I knew he was just giving me crap, but I didn’t need any crap. “You heard of Single Mother Outreach?” I asked.

  He shook his head, and I explained the letter.

  “We’ll look into it. You have any reason to believe there’s something wrong there?”

  “Other than they have a PO box and an answering machine… no. Worth checking.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds and said, “As busy as you two have been, did you think of checking on Petrace?”

  “Yes. We went to her house last night. Three newspapers on the walk, and the neighbor said he hadn’t seen her since early in the week.”

  He hit the intercom again. “Marge, if Dunsley is in, would you have him come in, please?”

  “Sure, Chief.”

  He asked Stillman to get the notes typed up and give them to Dunsley. While we were waiting, he went back over parts of the story, asking a few more questions. A man in plainclothes walked in while Snark was asking again about our unnamed source, and Rosie again was declining any information.

  The chief introduced us to Detective Dunsley, who looked like he just got out of bed. He was a big lug of a man with a round face and moppy hair that needed combing. His clothes looked like he had picked them up from where he had dropped them the night before. He wore tan slacks and a brown tie that clashed with a blue sweater that looked like it had been sharing a closet with moths. But what caught my attention the most was his eyes. They were too far apart and appeared to have no desire to focus on whatever he was looking at.

  Snark gave him the story in a nutshell. “Get the transcript from Stillman and start looking into this agency. Have a chat with Mrs. Peters. Tell her we’re looking into the break-in and ask if there were any before this one. But first, check on the Bells.” He gave Dunsley our contact numbers and told him to keep us in the loop. “Big shot here has a phone in his car.”

  Dunsley looked at me with disdain and reluctantly said he’d let us know what he found out about the Bells as soon as he knew and would keep us informed about the agency. He said all the right words, but his heart wasn’t in it. It sounded like he was just going through the motions because the chief had told him to. And my credibility with the chief wasn’t on the high side.

  Dunsley left and Snark asked if we had brought guns.

  “Yes, they’re cased in the trunk,” I said.

  “Well, I’d be happy if they stayed there.”

  “So would I,” I said.

  On the way to the car I asked Rosie if she had noticed Dunsley’s pants.

  “What about them?”

  “They have cuffs. What’s with that?”

  She laughed. “That’s the latest fashion this year. Where have you been?”

  “Not on my pants.”

  “Well, if you’re going to flaunt fashion I’ll have to decide if I want to be seen in public with you.”

  “Great… let me know how that turns out.”

  ***

  Our first stop was going to be the office of the Green Bay Press-Gazette, but it had become our second.

  On the way, Rosie said, “Okay, it’s 10:40 Friday morning. When do I find out what’s going on?”

  I laughed. “A little more patience would be a good thing. And I never said you’d find out on Friday… I just said you’d find out.”

  She sighed.

  We started with the lady at the front desk who referred us to someone else who referred us to someone else. It took a half hour, but we finally found a newsman who had been there for thirty-two years. The lady at the front desk said he had a mind like a steel trap, and if anyone knew anything about anything in Green Bay it would be Jack Chesterton. He led us through a maze of desks, cubicles, and file cabinets to his desk in the corner of the large room. A fat cigar was wasting away in a silver ashtray.

  “So what can I do for you folks?”

  I told him we were investigating a case that had led us to the From Us to You Adoption Agency and asked if he remembered anytime they had been in the news. He, of course, wanted to know what we were investigating. Rosie just smiled at him, and he just smiled back. When they were done smiling at each other he said he knew of them and might b
e able to help… if he only knew something about why we were asking.

  Rosie smiled some more. “You’ve been doing this long enough. We need some information. If we could tell you anything about it we would.” I got to be included without having to smile. “But so far, we’re not even sure if we’re looking in the right spot.”

  He stopped smiling and stared at her for a few seconds. I couldn’t blame him for that… she wasn’t hard to stare at. Without looking away from her, he yelled, “Brewer!” A shaggy-haired kid who looked like he was in high school looked around the corner of a cubicle. Chesterton managed to look away from Rosie. “See what you can find on the From Us to You Adoption Agency and Single Mother Outreach.” The kid moved pretty quickly around the other side of the cubicle and disappeared.

  Chesterton smiled some more and then picked up the cigar. After blowing a cloud of smoke straight up in the air, he said, “Suppose I tell you what you’re investigating.”

  Rosie extended her right hand toward him, palm up. “Be my guest.”

  He took another puff, tapped the ash off the end, and put the cigar gently back in the tray. “You’ve got somebody back in Chicago who adopted a kid. It didn’t go well. My guess is there was an upset mother. Whoever you got in Chicago hired a private to look into it. But there must be a little more to it than that because we’re sitting here with a Chicago detective. But maybe that somebody has connections that buy a trip by a detective along with the private.”

  Rosie looked at me and smiled.

  “Or maybe the private talked the detective into coming along for the ride because he likes her company.” He paused and fingered the cigar and gave us a sly smile. “Can’t say as how I’d blame him.”

  The kid came running up with a folder and said he found nothing on Single Mother. He disappeared just as quickly as someone else yelled at him from across the room. Chesterton opened the file and picked up the cigar. He handed Rosie a fact sheet on the agency and scanned an article. He handed me the article as he puffed out some more smoke. The article was dated June of 1983, two years ago.

  “I remember the article,” he said. “We were doing a series on kids… a whole variety of stuff. Backgrounds and information on various companies. What I remember as being odd about the adoption agency was they had what seemed like very few adoptions in eleven years. Less than ten a year if I remember correctly. Hard to make money that way. Most are a lot busier.”

  I set the article on his desk and asked, “Did anyone raise that point?”

  “Yes. That’s in the article. A Mrs. Peters said they were in a business where you needed to be extra careful. I wonder if she’s still there.”

  “She is. Yes, they need to be careful, but there’s that nasty thing called profit. Employees tend to want to be paid.”

  “Yes, odd. Maybe you could ask her.”

  Rosie asked if she could make a copy of the fact sheet.

  He called the boy back, and he ran off again.

  “So, how close am I?”

  Rosie laughed. “Well, it does have to do with an adoption.”

  He spun the cigar in the tray. “When you can tell me the rest I’d appreciate it. We need profits too.”

  “No problem,” Rosie said.

  The boy was back and laid the sheets on the desk. Rosie took one as we stood.

  “Thanks for your help,” Rosie said. “We’ll let you know if something comes of this.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll be here.” He didn’t stand as he wished us luck.

  ***

  When we got in the car, Rosie read the sheet and gave me the facts.

  “The company was started in 1972 by a Justine Trainer. It lists her address and the address of the agency… same as now. There’s a paragraph giving the company mission statement. Mrs. Cynthia Peters was hired in 1973. Under miscellaneous, it says there had only been fifty-two adoptions since 1972.”

  “So how do they make money?”

  “Good question. Here’s another… what next?”

  “Lunch.” We pulled out of the lot and headed down Maple. “Let me know if something looks good to you.”

  Rosie saw a diner that she said looked like fun. As I was pulling in, the phone rang. Detective Dunsley gave a very succinct report that he had seen Claudia Bell who was alive and well. I asked if he had spoken to her in person. He hadn’t. When I pointed out that I’d feel better if he had actually talked to her face to face, he told me how I felt wasn’t his priority. When I persisted, he told me to mind my own business and that he had done what his chief had asked him to do. I also wondered how he had become a detective, but I didn’t ask that.

  I turned off the car and shook my head.

  “That went well,” said Rosie.

  “Yeah, almost ruined my appetite.”

  As we were making a couple of cheeseburgers disappear, Rosie again asked what the plan was.

  I checked my watch. It was almost one thirty. “Well, I’d like to stop in Algoma on the way up to Door County. There’s a very cool pierhead light at the river entrance. But I’d also like to stop and see Mrs. Bell.”

  “What’s our excuse for that?”

  “Asking directions always works. But we can watch the house for a bit. I’d be happy just seeing her, but I think she needs to be aware of what’s going on.”

  I followed the last bit of cheeseburger with a fry.

  ***

  We found the Bell’s house and parked a few houses down and across the street. It was a well-kept ranch on a quiet side street on a hill. It was landscaped with a garden in front of the picture window and flowers along the walk up to the front door. A one-car garage was attached to the south end of the house.

  I was ready to go to plan B when the garage door opened and a Buick pulled out with a woman driving. She headed in our direction and we got a good look at Mrs. Bell. She looked alive to me.

  “How do you know that’s her and not someone who just killed her?” Rosie asked with a smirk.

  “I’m willing to make that assumption.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I knew she wasn’t serious. As assumptions go, that was a pretty good one.

  ***

  Algoma was only a little out of the way to Door. It’s a small town on the shore of Lake Michigan that had been a part of the trip up to Door County when I was a kid. It had a great hot dog stand. We had plenty of time to relive some memories and make it to Aunt Rose’s in time for dinner.

  I turned onto Lake Street and pulled into the parking area next to the beach. From there we could see the red pierhead light at the entrance to the Ahnapee River. We sat at a picnic bench and watched the boats making their way out onto the lake where the sun sparkled off of the waves. After a few minutes, I took Rosie’s hand and pulled her up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “For a walk.”

  She came along willingly until I turned onto the concrete breakwall on the south side of the harbor. It was about a hundred yards long and angled north toward the light. The wall was conical with a flat top that was about two feet across and was about three feet above the water.

  Rosie hesitated. “We’re not walking on that, are we?”

  “I am,” I said with a smile. “You can stay here if you forgot to take your brave pill this morning.”

  I got a look that I would call unfriendly. “Why?”

  “Because it’s a tradition. I did this every time we came up here.”

  “And your folks did it with you?”

  “Well, not Mom, and not always Dad.”

  “No, I didn’t think so.”

  “You have a great view of the light from the end of this wall.”

  “I can see it from here.”

  A wave rolled up onto the sand.

  “Suit yourself.”

  I let go of her hand, and she took mine again with a look of resignation. “If you guarantee this is safe.”

  “No guarantees in life, my dear.”

  But she fol
lowed as I walked slowly along the wall. The smell of fish got stronger the farther out we got. The wall needed some repair, and we had to step over a few large cracks. But ten minutes later we got to the end on the south side of the river. She admitted that the view of the light was much better, but with the waves slapping against the wall she wanted to head back.

  I waited until we were back on firm ground before telling her about my experience in the fog. When I was about ten, I took my walk out onto the breakwall on a warm sunny day. I was about halfway out when the temperature suddenly dropped, and five seconds later the foghorn started to blare. Five seconds after that I was enshrouded in fog and could only see about a foot in front of me. It was a bit unnerving. I remember feeling a bit dizzy and a lot disoriented. But after some deep breaths, I realized if I stayed on the wall and started walking, I’d eventually get back to shore.

  But there were two problems. Given the visibility, staying on the wall took some effort. And when the fog rolled in I had been facing away from the wall path. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember if I was facing the lake or the harbor inside the wall. But still, I knew if I chose the wrong way I’d just have to turn around. I turned to my right and, a half hour later, arrived back on shore to the welcoming committee of Dad and a very relieved looking Mom.

  Rosie hit me on the shoulder with her open hand. “And you didn’t tell me about this before we went?”

  I smiled. “Would you have gone?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Well, there you are. Aren’t you’re glad you did it?”

  She gave me a stern, angry look and said with clenched teeth, “Yes... but once is enough.”

  I put my arm around her waist. “I recall a little incident not far from here where we were both being shot at. And you’re giving me crap about this?”

  She just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “Let’s go see what’s for dinner,” I said.

  Chapter 18