Dead Renegade (8 page)

“We have twenty-three registered sex offenders in and around Loon Lake,” Lew said when he had finished sharing every detail that he knew or suspected since talking to C.J. Calverson and spotting Bobby Schradtke’s car. “I can have a status report run on where each of those individuals were this morning. They are required by law to keep us informed of their whereabouts at all times.”

“Twenty-three! I had no idea. Do you regularly alert people to these offenders?”

“We try to keep parents aware, but sex offenders are under the sheriff’s jurisdiction, not the police department’s. We have to follow their lead. Now tell me who this C.J. person is.”

“She’s new to Loon Lake—young, maybe in her twenties—and recently married to an older guy named Curt Calverson. I’ve never met the man. Erin seemed to know who he is. They bought that big house kiddie corner from Court House and they have a lake home on Big Moccasin. Once she calmed Mason down, Mason seemed to trust her. She offered to take myself and Mason out fishing on their pontoon this afternoon. She and I and Erin—we were thinking that if we could get her mind off things for a while that she might open up.

“Now, Lew, I haven’t said a word to Erin about my concern that Mason may have been molested. Didn’t occur to me until I happened to drive by Edna Schradtke’s place and saw that old car that belongs to her son, Bobby. That worthless piece of shit is back in town and, Lew, that creep tried to pull Mallory into his car one day when she was just a kid. She wouldn’t tell us what happened that night. I didn’t know the truth until after Mary Lee died.

“I can’t tell you how bad I feel that she couldn’t trust us. Could Mason be shutting down for the same reason? Am I crazy to think this way?”

Lew reached for both his hands and grasped them firmly between hers as she said, “Look, it won’t be easy if she has been hurt. I may need to bring in a professional therapist but, please, Doc, know that between you and me and her parents, we’ll get Mason all the help she needs to determine what, if anything, has happened to her. Until then, let’s hope for the best.”

She stood up and pulled Osborne into her arms for a long, comforting hug. “And if she has been hurt, we can help with that, too. You’d be amazed at how resilient kids are. Keep in mind that one out of four kids experience some kind of sexual abuse as they’re growing up. The good news is that today we have professionals trained to help them cope with the trauma.”

“I sure hope so,” said Osborne, feeling a slight sense of relief. “You know,” he said taking a deep breath, “now that you mention it, there was an incident back when I was in boarding school. I think I told you I was six when my father sent me off to the Jesuits. When I was in the fourth grade, a number of the boys in my dorm were being victimized by an older boy from the high school—until one of the young ones finally went to the priest in charge of our dorm. The older boy was gone the next day.”

“Really,” said Lew. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know what gave the younger boy the courage to speak up? “

“I may be able to find out. The boy who blew the whistle and I have stayed in touch over the years. He’s a retired MD living in Indiana. I could call him and see if he remembers the incident and if he minds telling me why he did what he did.”

“Worth a try, Doc. Look, I’ll cancel my evening so I can help you with this,” said Lew, setting the chairs back where they’d been.

“Absolutely not. I’ll give my old friend a call and see what I can find out.”

“I think it might be a good idea, if you’re able to reach him—and before you see Mason—that you and I talk. Have Marlene patch you through to me. And, Doc, this comes before any silly party.”

Before they left the room, Lew reached to pull him close again. “Dr. Osborne,” she whispered, “Mason has all the right people around her. We’ll make this okay.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Osborne. “I’ll never forgive myself if she’s a victim of the same creep that went after Mallory. I can’t let that happen again.”

“Doc,” said Lew, her voice firm, “I want you to get over that thought. Whoever it was this morning—it was not Bobby Schradtke. He was in a meeting with his probation officer, myself, the sheriff and three other parolees. Three hours. It could not possibly have been Bobby.”

“That’s good to know,” said Osborne. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and turned. “Lew, I feel bad I can’t help you out here.”

“Please, don’t even think about it. I’ll work something out. I’ll call the Wausau boys right now. They owe me one anyway. We’ve got a victim who isn’t going anywhere—that much we know. The main issue is getting the rug and the remains out of here so Bart can re-open his store.”

CHAPTER
11

T
hroughout the drive home Osborne could not stop worrying: did he have a current phone number for Pete Murphy? After all, it had been five years since they had caught up with each other during the academy’s centennial celebration.

After arriving home and checking on Mike, who was intent on stalking a squirrel and could care less if his water dish was full, Osborne sat down at the desk in his den, opened his address book and picked up the phone.

To his relief, a familiar voice answered on the second ring. “Paul, hey! Good to hear from you—what’s up?” asked Pete. “Finally coming through with an invitation to fish that beautiful lake of yours, are you?”

“We can sure discuss that,” said Osborne, “but, Pete, the fact is I’ve got a difficult situation with one of my grandchildren, and my hunch is you may be able to help me out a little here. Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

“I’ve got the time, not sure I’ve got any answers. Remember, Paul, I was a GP and not a pediatrician—”

“This has nothing to do with medicine.”

“Really? Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity, old friend. I’ll do my best to help you out. But give me a clue, won’t you?” Pete sounded so relaxed and happy that Osborne wondered if he was right to ask questions that could bring back unpleasant memories.

“This is about an incident when you and I were in grade school, Pete. I’ve never forgotten that you were the guy who blew the whistle on that Collins kid. Remember that bully?”

“Never forget him. Wonder whatever happened to that jerk.”

“You were the only one on your floor with the guts to say anything even though a number of the other boys knew he was hurting those kids. Everyone was too scared to say anything. I guess …” Osborne paused, uncertain how to ask the next question.

“My question is—would you mind talking about that, Pete? I would like to know what gave
you
the confidence to tell Father Kucera what was happening.”

“And why is that, Paul? You have a grandchild who is being bullied?”

“Possibly … maybe worse …”

“I see. Well, if it helps I’m happy to tell you why I did what I did. And you may find it rather ironic that it all started with one of
my
grandparents—my grandmother …”

Twenty minutes later Osborne had a plan. He called Erin. “Is Mason still up to go fishing?” He knew the answer before he asked, of course, and chuckled at the whoop of joy he heard in the background. “Good, I’ll be there by three-thirty.”

Opening the back of the Subaru, he carefully laid two metal tubes side by side—the beige one held his old Sage fly rod and the forest green tube with the shiny brass cap held the new Winston fly rod that Lew and his daughters had given him for his birthday. He double-checked his fishing duffle to be sure it held a couple extra reels and, finally, he folded his fly fishing vest so that the pockets bulging with boxes of trout flies wouldn’t get crushed by Mike’s car kennel. At the last minute, he threw in an extra fishing hat—the one that was too small for him.

Before leaving the house, he let the dog out of the yard and together they headed for the water: Osborne took the stairs while Mike leaped ahead, dashing onto the dock before coming to a skidding halt at the end. Much as the black lab loved to swim, he refused to dive.

Osborne ambled out over the water to stand beside the dog and speculate. It was a favorite pastime of his, and Mason had asked him once why he spent so much time alone on his dock. “I like to speculate,” he had said and left to her to figure what he meant.

A cerulean sky had cast its spell across the water with only the distant horizon of dark firs to separate the matching blues. The water surface was still. Not a cloud marred the sky, not a sound the air. Not even the hum of a distant outboard motor could be heard. Peace reigned. Osborne raised his face to the sun,
speculating.

Summer afternoon in June: life should be perfect. Old bones should not tumble out of rugs; little girls should not be terrified. How would this day end?

He found his favorite perch on the bench anchoring the end of the dock and took the time to say—as was his habit when life pressed hard—a
Hail Mary
. A short prayer, it had been his favorite since childhood, since those days with the Jesuits: a wistful attempt to ensure he was doing the right thing.

After three
Hail Marys,
he and the dog sat very still, listening as a trio of breezes came rippling across the water, whispering their secrets to the tall pines guarding the shore.

Secrets, Osborne thought, goddamn secrets. I’ve had it with secrets. He reached to rub the black lab behind his ears then gave him a swift pat, “Okay, guy, gotta go. Wish me luck.”

And Mike leaped up to do as he was asked with a wag of his tail and a wide, toothy smile.

As he drove into town, left hand on the steering wheel, right hand clutching the cell phone, he was able to reach Marlene on the switchboard and ask to be patched through to Lew. It took just a minute to relay the gist of Pete’s story and let her know what he was planning to do.

“Well,” she said after a brief pause, “can’t hurt to give it a try, Doc. Mason’s got an aggressive side to her and this may just hit her right. But, please, call me later. Even if it’s after five, I’ll have my phone with me and I’m going to worry until we know more.”

CHAPTER
12

H
unched forward in anticipation, Mason was perched on the porch steps, a blue and white-striped beach towel draped across her shoulders and a bright red life jacket clutched to her chest.

“Grandpa!” She waved as she jumped to her feet and danced down the stairs towards Osborne’s car. Shouting as she ran, she said, “C.J. invited us to a picnic, too! Root beer, bratwurst. Even Ray is coming.” She yanked open the car door and thrust her head inside. “And it’s just me who gets to go with you, Grandpa. Not Cody.”

Osborne turned away to smile. He was not surprised to hear that excluding her little brother would make the afternoon even more special. As Mason clambered into the front seat, her mother appeared in the doorway, a blue backpack in her hands. She held it high as she said, “Dad, got a minute?”

“Be right there,” said Osborne, holding the car door open until he was sure Mason had fastened her seat belt.

“Here,” said Erin, as he reached the porch, “a change of clothes in case you-know-who falls in, which I can guarantee she will. And jeans and a sweatshirt for when it’s cool later. She’s got her swimsuit on under her shorts and T-shirt.”

“Has she said anything more about this morning?” asked Osborne, reaching for the backpack.

“Not a word, but she is certainly thrilled to be going off with you and her new best friend,” said Erin. “By the way, C.J. had me call Ray to be sure he knew he was invited.” Erin grimaced, “He’s coming all right, Dad, he’s bringing a “… surprise.’“ Erin mimicked Ray’s deliberate delay when imparting critical information.

“Jeez Louise,” said Osborne with a wry smile as he gave his daughter a quick peck on the cheek, “I’m not sure how many more surprises this old man can manage.”