Chapter 8
I decided I might as well take advantage of my staff closing shop for me, and I headed for bed around one, hoping to snag a few extra hours of sleep. But my internal clock—and my racing mind—wouldn’t allow it. After an hour or two of tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep around three when all the noises downstairs had died out. I awoke the next morning at a little after nine and settled in at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper online. The body that had been found beneath the Bronze Fonz was the top story of the day and the identity of the victim had been released. The article gave some details about Lewis’s life, some of which I hadn’t known. What I did know was that he was an ICU nurse at a local hospital, single, and not from the Milwaukee area originally. What I hadn’t known was that his family currently lived in Minnesota: his parents, a brother, and a sister.
The article ended with a plea to the public to call a hotline number if anyone had any information they thought might be relative to the case. I had plenty, but nothing I was willing to share with anyone other than Duncan, Cora, Mal, and the Signoriello brothers.
I knew that Lewis’s death would be the topic of the day in the bar, particularly with the Capone Club members. Even though I had had time to process the fact, I would have to act as if the news was as much a surprise to me as it was to the others. I spent a few minutes over my coffee, mentally rehearsing my reactions.
Just before ten, Duncan called.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he said, and his words made me taste fizzy chocolate that blended nicely with the lingering taste of my coffee. “Sorry I had to leave last night.”
“Me, too. What came up that was so important?” I heard the slight tone of resentment in my voice and wondered if Duncan could, too. “And how did you leave?”
“Something came up on one of my cases that couldn’t wait,” he said vaguely. “And I borrowed a scarf from you. Between that, my wool cap, and the bulky coat, my face was well hidden. I walked straight out through the bar. No one noticed.”
I said nothing, too miffed to speak, so he went on. “I did manage to get a little work done on our shared, secret case last night. I dusted the envelopes and the letter for prints, and had a friend run them for me on the sly. I told her it was for something personal. We came up with several prints on the envelopes, but the only one that produced anything in AFIS was the art store guy, who has a record. He had a prior arrest for burglary.”
“Do you think he might be behind this?”
“I don’t. The burglary rap was six years ago when he was in his early twenties and it was a friend he robbed. Claimed the stuff was his originally, but the jury didn’t believe him. He did ninety days in jail and a year of probation. Other than that, his record is clean.”
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have written the letters.”
“True, but I did some checking and he owns and runs that art store. He’s there every day from when he opens until he closes. I don’t think his schedule is very conducive to what the letter suggests and there are witnesses who say he was in the store around the time that Lewis Carmichael was killed.”
“So it’s a dead end,” I said, resisting an urge I had to add that I’d told him so.
“That part is, but after reading through a couple of the other letters you had, I zeroed in on one in particular, the one from Apostle Mike. He sounds like a zealot, so I thought it would be worth it to take a deeper look into him and his so-called mission.”
“And?”
“Well, he’s a fringe lunatic, but I’m guessing you figured that out on your own. He is also clearly not a fan of yours and he has a record for felony assault. He pistol whipped a couple ten years ago who were the landlords of the house he was living in. He did two years in prison and another five on probation.”
“Anything since then?”
“Yeah, plenty. He started this right wing group of militant conservatives who protest against the government interfering in any way with individual rights, particularly the right to bear arms. There is a possibility he has connections to some militant groups in upper Michigan who are known to have huge stockpiles of weapons and a belief that such stockpiles are necessary to protect them against a police-run state. So given your prior connections to me and the department, it’s quite possible that this guy and some of his compatriots see you as part of the Big Brother enemy.”
This revelation made me taste fear. The idea that I was facing one lunatic was bad enough. The thought that it might be an entire group of fanatics was almost more than I could stand. “How do we find that out?”
“We need to have a chat with him.”
“But if you do, and he is involved, it would let him and anyone he might be working with know that I involved you in this against his explicit instructions. I don’t think I could bear to live with the consequences if he carries out his threat. I’ve already got one death on my shoulders. I can’t handle another one.”
“Lewis’s death is not your fault, Mack. And I thought you might balk at the idea of me questioning this guy, so I thought I’d have someone else question him about something unrelated to you and your letters. I can have one of the other guys bring him in and question him while you and I secretly observe.”
“You mean, at the police station?”
“Yes.”
“But if I’m seen even going to the police station . . .” I let the implication hang, knowing he would guess what I meant.
“We can figure ways around that,” he assured me. “And I have one or two guys I can trust to help us out with this and keep it under wraps.”
“Is Jimmy one of them?” Jimmy Patterson was Duncan’s partner and someone who had eyed me with skepticism and a degree of distrust from the first day I met him. The distrust part was mutual. Whenever he was around, I sensed the level of dislike and discomfort he felt with me.
“He is,” Duncan said. “I know the two of you haven’t seen eye to eye on things all the time, and I know he’s been skeptical of you and your abilities, but it doesn’t mean he dislikes you. And regardless of whether or not he believes in you, he’s someone I trust.”
“I don’t agree with you about him not disliking me, but I’ll accept your judgment of his trustworthiness,” I said, thinking at least for now, since I don’t have much of a choice.
“I’ll let you know when we find Apostle Mike and we’ll figure out a way to sneak you in here to listen in when we talk to him.”
“Just don’t do it today. I’m going to the zoo, remember?”
“Yeah, about that . . .” He sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you traipsing around to these places alone. We don’t know what this person has in mind. Maybe it’s not a game they want to play. Maybe they’re trying to lure you out somewhere so they can kidnap you, or worse.”
“The zoo is a public place,” I said with more conviction than I felt. I didn’t want Duncan to sense how afraid I really was. “Besides, I’m not going alone. I’m taking Mal.”
“Okay. That’s good,” Duncan said, though the tone in his voice suggested otherwise. Why, I wondered? Was he worried about my safety, or was he starting to feel a prickle of jealousy? “I’ll try to arrange for Apostle Mike to be brought in some other time then, maybe tomorrow. That might be better anyway since there are fewer people around here on a Sunday.”
“Let me know,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m more or less free until Mal comes at noon. Can I interest you in sneaking over here for brunch?”
“That sounds great, and I do want to see you, but I don’t think I can get away. Jimmy and I pulled a drug-related double homicide and right now I’ve got more work than I can handle. Can I take a rain check?”
“Anytime,” I said, trying to disguise the disappointment I felt.
After hanging up, I headed downstairs to start my morning bar prep. As I entered the bar I saw my daytime bartender, Pete, was already in and busy cutting up fruit for the bar. Debra had just walked in and was shedding her coat, a lighter weight one than her usual.
“Good morning,” I said to the two of them, eyeing the brilliant sunshine beaming in through the windows. I knew that at this time of the year that sunshine can be deceptive, shining bright in the midst of bitter, brittle cold. “What’s it like outside? The paper said we were in for a bit of a warm spell for a couple of days.”
“It’s nice,” Debra said. “It’s in the upper thirties now and I think it’s supposed to hit the mid- to high fifties later on.”
Given that we’d just had a two-week stretch of temperatures in the teens and twenties, the fifties sounded heavenly.
“Did you see the news this morning?” Debra asked.
I nodded solemnly. “Lewis, you mean?”
She nodded just as solemnly. “What a horrible thing. It’s scary to think that someone we know has been murdered. Makes me wish you and Duncan were still close so you could get the scoop.”
“Maybe some of the other cops who come in can give us some info,” Pete suggested. “I didn’t know the guy real well, but he seemed nice enough.”
“He was,” I agreed.
With that topic out of the way, Debra started quizzing me relentlessly on my date with Mal last night. “Did you like him?” she asked. “Are you going to see him again? Did he hold your hand? Did he kiss you?”
Pete’s questions were more fatherly in nature. “Did he treat you well? Did he act like a gentleman? Did he pay for your dinner? Have you checked into his background?”
I fielded their inquiries with honest answers—at least mostly honest—until Debra hit me with “So what happened with you and Duncan?”
Pete echoed this question with one of his own before I could answer. “Yeah, what’s the deal with you and Duncan?”
I didn’t want to lie to them, and even though I felt I could trust both of them, I didn’t want to tell them the truth, either. Sometimes people let things slip unintentionally when their guards are down, or they are otherwise distracted. And I wasn’t willing to risk a life on someone else’s careless slip of the tongue. Based on that, I figured the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. So I opted for evasion instead.
“I don’t want to talk about Duncan,” I said, trying to look wounded and hurt. “Let’s just say that for now I’m content to see where things go with Mal.”
With that, I disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the two of them behind and putting an end to the interrogation. But I did look out through the door window once I was in the kitchen and saw Pete and Debra exchange a look between them. I had no doubt that speculation about what had happened between me and Duncan would be the second most popular topic of gossip in the bar for a while, but like most gossip, it would eventually grow old and be replaced with something juicier, more current, and more interesting. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the murder of someone else we all knew.
We opened the doors at eleven and the usual group of regulars came in. The Signoriello brothers ate lunch at my bar nearly every day of the week. They were very punctual and always arrived within a minute or two of eleven. Cora was less driven by the clock, but she typically showed up within the first couple of hours and then spent most of the day in the bar. Today she arrived at five minutes after eleven with Tiny in tow.
“I have some exciting news about Tiny’s sister’s case,” she announced to us. “Send anyone who’s interested upstairs to the Capone Club room.”
Over the next ten minutes, Carter, Holly, Tad, and Alicia arrived and headed upstairs to join the brothers and Cora. By eleven-thirty, Sam and Kevin had joined the fray. Saturdays were always the busiest day for the Capone Club since most of the members were off work on the weekends. One exception to this rule was Karen Tannenbaum, or Dr. T as we called her, who worked various shifts in the ER at the same hospital where Lewis Carmichael had worked. As it turned out, Dr. T was off for the day, and she showed up at eleven-thirty for lunch. I was curious to see how folks in the group would react to the news about Lewis, and also curious to see how they would react to Cora’s news about Tiny’s case, so I ventured upstairs to listen in.
Just as I’d thought, Lewis’s murder was the hot topic. Everyone looked a little shell-shocked over it, and several folks were consoling Dr. T, who had known Lewis better than any of us.
“Have you heard any rumors about what happened?” Cora asked her.
Dr. T shook her head. “The cops haven’t said anything, though they’ve been talking to a bunch of us. I imagine they’ll be around to talk to you guys, too. So far they’re keeping mum on the subject, and if they know anything they aren’t sharing. No one knows of anyone who had it out for Lewis so the speculation for now is that he was the unfortunate victim of a robbery gone wrong. If I hear anything more concrete, I’ll let you guys know.”
The group spent ten minutes or so holding a mini memorial for Lewis, sharing some memories and anecdotes of him, but his involvement with the group had been hit and miss for the most part, so aside from Dr. T, the mourning remained on a somewhat distant, superficial level. Cora, Frank, and Joe shot me meaningful looks several times, and I knew they were making the connection between Lewis’s murder and the letter. They looked troubled and worried, but not particularly frightened, and I made a mental note to talk to them later and caution them to be extra-wary and careful.
None of the others seemed to feel particularly threatened by the proximity of Lewis’s murder to our group, and I felt some relief over that. But I also felt guilty hiding the knowledge I had. Was I endangering them more by keeping the information I had to myself? Or was it better to let them live on in blissful ignorance? Only time would tell, and I prayed that I was making the right decision.
Once the topic of Lewis petered out, Cora said, “No disrespect meant to Lewis, but I have some news on another topic that I think you’ll all find interesting. I dug up some info on the primary suspects in Lori Gruber’s case.”
I could see that Cora had written up her own version of the suspect sheets that included pictures, bios, and pertinent facts about each of the suspects. I wondered how much of the info had been included in the sheets Duncan had obtained and how much of it Cora had dug up on her own using her many databases and hacking skills. She had a stack of pages stapled together and she handed them out to everyone in the room.
There were four men listed on the pages: a local homeless man named Lonnie Carlisle who had a sex offender history; Erik Hermann, the older brother of Lori’s friend, Anna Hermann, who had been abducted and killed along with Lori; a man named William Schneider, who had lived in the same neighborhood as Lori and Anna, and who had a reputation for being “strange” according to his neighbors; and a plumber named Timothy Johnson, who went by the moniker TJ, and who had visited the Gruber household the day before the two girls disappeared.
The pages also revealed that while investigating TJ, the cops had found a large stash of kiddie porn in his house, for which he was arrested. He worked a deal with the DA and did two years of jail time along with four years of probation, and earned himself a spot on the sex offenders’ list as a result.
A picture of each man was included, along with a summary of their statements, and their alibis if they had one. The strange neighbor, the plumber, and the homeless man had no alibis, but Erik had a friend named Dylan Cochran who swore that the two of them were out driving around in the country together at the time of the girls’ disappearance.
Three of the men still lived in Milwaukee. Lonnie Carlisle was the exception and he was no longer homeless. He was currently residing at the Waupun Correctional Institute after being convicted of attempted murder, attempted child molestation, and attempted sexual assault.
“Interesting collection of suspects,” I said. “Was there any DNA evidence to connect any of them?”
Tiny, managing to look both sad and hopeful, shook his head. “Da bodies were found two mont’s after dey disappeared. Dey were in da Little Menomonee River in a wooded area by da Oak Leaf Trail,” he said, referencing a bike path that circles in and around the city through its parklands. “Dey went missing at da end of Christmas break after dey went out on a bike ride. We had a weird warm spell dat year between Christmas and New Year’s—kinda like what we’re having now—but da wedder turned bitterly cold later dat night. Da bodies didn’t surface until early March when t’ings warmed up enough to t’aw the river water. My parents were told dat da bodies were well preserved t’anks to da cold.” His face scrunched up and his jaw muscles twitched as he paused, and after a deep, bracing breath he went on. “Da cops said Lori showed evidence of sexual assault but dere was no usable DNA found because of da water.”
It was obvious from the pain on Tiny’s face that the subject still left him feeling raw even after twelve years. I noticed that his emotions deepened at the end of his summary when he finally said his sister’s name instead of referring to her and Anna as the bodies. I understood that form of detachment all too well. I had used a similar dodge whenever I talked about my father’s murder, finding it much easier to discuss certain aspects of the event without breaking down if I referred to his body rather than him personally.
I ached for Tiny and leaned over to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tiny,” I said, and others in the group murmured similar condolences.
Once the murmurs died down, Cora said, “Do you have a favorite suspect in this group, Tiny? Or someone else that’s not on the list who you thought might be involved?”
He nodded. “I do t’ink it’s one of dem guys. But I’d radder not say who just yet. I want to see what udder people t’ink first.”
“It makes sense to start with the ones the cops were most focused on,” Sam said. He looked over at Tiny. “But if they don’t pan out, we should look into your sister’s life a little deeper, hers and Anna’s, to see if there are some other suspects out there that the cops might have overlooked.”
Everyone nodded their agreement and a murmur of assent filled the room.
“Okay, then,” I said, looking at the sheet in front of me and then at Tiny. “What’s the story behind Lonnie Carlisle’s conviction?”
“I heard he tried to attack two girls da summer after Lori and Anna died,” Tiny explained. “Dey rebuffed his sexual advances and he beat one of da girls so bad she ended up in a coma. She’s still alive but she’s got severe brain damage. Lonnie said da girls attacked him for no reason, and he swore he didn’t do anyt’ing to eeder one of dem. He said she musta fallen and hit her head. He said he didn’t do anyt’ing except try to get away from dem, and dat he acted in self-defense.”
A couple of people in the room rolled their eyes, and others harrumphed at Lonnie’s reported explanation. Based on their reactions it wasn’t hard to imagine which version of events the cops and jury had believed.
“Do you know why he was on the sex offenders’ list before your sister’s disappearance?” I asked.
Tiny shook his head and started to say something, but before he could, Cora piped up with an answer. “According to the court records it was a case of statutory rape. Lonnie was in love with a girl who was only sixteen when he was eighteen. Apparently the girl’s parents didn’t approve and they filed the charges.”
“So no history of any other sexual offenses?” Sam asked.
Cora shook her head. “Not that I could find. His main issue seemed to be with booze. The girl, by the way, committed suicide a couple of months after Lonnie’s conviction. About a year after that, he started racking up DUIs. He dropped out of college, did some job hopping for several years, and eventually did jail time for a DUI accident that injured someone else. After doing two years he got out, but apparently he wasn’t able to turn his life around. He spent some time in a halfway house but left after a few months and then dropped off the radar. No taxes paid, no jobs that I could find. I’m guessing that’s when he became homeless. It was two years after that when Lori Gruber disappeared and he became a suspect.”
“That’s a tragic tale,” I said.
Most of the group nodded, though I noticed that Tiny didn’t.
“Damn alcohol,” Carter said. “It ruins a lot of lives.”
Everyone looked at their drink, then at me. Realizing what he’d just said, Carter blushed and added, “Nothing personal, Mack. I’m talking about people who abuse the stuff. Not anyone here.”
Despite his disclaimer, both of the Signoriello brothers and Tad set their drinks down.
“No offense taken,” I said in an effort to ease everyone’s minds. “Moderation is the key.”
“What got Lonnie on the cops’ radar in your sister’s case?” Sam asked. “A statutory rape charge isn’t the sort of sex offense that typically segues into regular rape and murder. And based on the history, it sounds like he and the girl were truly in love. Was he a suspect right from the beginning, or only after the other two girls were attacked? ”
Tiny fielded this one. “He was a suspect right from da start. The cops said dey found witnesses who saw Lori talking to da guy. Lonnie didn’t deny it. He said he knew her because he saw her walking home from school all da time and one day she started talking to him, trying to get him to go to church wit’ her. We used to attend da Lutheran Church in our neighborhood and dey funded a program for homeless people. Lonnie said Lori befriended him and gave him money a couple of times so he could get somet’ing to eat.”
“Did you believe him?” I asked Tiny.
He shrugged. “Lori woulda done somet’ing like dat. She was always bringing home stray animals, and sticking up for kids at school who were bullied, dat dere sorta stuff. She had a big heart. But the cops said Lori resembled da girl he used to date, da one whose parents filed da charges. Dey t’ought maybe he confused Lori for her, tried to do somet’ing to her, and when she resisted, he killed her.”
I made a mental note to try to arrange a visit to Waupun and Lonnie in the near future. I wanted to talk to the man, to hear his side of the story. I’m pretty good at detecting when people are lying about something. Their voices change in subtle ways, ways that I can see or taste.
“What do you know about this neighbor guy, William Schneider?” Dr. T asked. “The one who everyone said was strange.”
Once again Cora beat Tiny to the punch. “He has some mental health issues. Based on the court records I could find, he’s been in and out of mental facilities and doesn’t take his meds like he’s supposed to. His background is another tragic story.”
This made Tiny frown and I imagined he didn’t take kindly to anyone feeling sorry in any way for the suspects in his sister’s murder.
“He lost his wife and daughter in a house fire twenty years ago and never remarried. He was home at the time, and the fire was found to have been caused by a pile of gasoline-soaked rags that had been left in the garage. William was a mechanic and he had an old car he was trying to restore, so you can probably guess who left the rags in there.”
Sam said, “Again I have to ask, what got him on the cops’ radar with Lori and Anna’s case?”
Tiny finally had a chance to speak. “He used to call out to young girls when dey walked by his house, asking dem to come inside and join him for some cookies and milk. Lori was nice to him; she often waved or said hi when she walked by his house. So I t’ink the cops t’ought she mighta gone inside.”
“Was there any other evidence connecting him to Lori and Anna?” I asked.
Tiny shrugged. Cora said, “Not that I’ve been able to find. Maybe one of the cops who come in here from time to time can shed some more light on it for us by sneaking a peek at the files.”
Everyone nodded and I mentally put William Schneider at the bottom of my list for now.
“How about the plumber?” Alicia asked.
“I like TJ for it,” Cora said. “The cops found that collection of kiddie porn and when they searched his computer, they found a bunch of Web sites that he visited regularly that either had illegal kiddie porn on them or were hangouts for other pedophiles. Based on the porn he had, the stuff he said, and what he watched online, he liked young girls who were around Lori’s age. He did some time and went to a court-mandated treatment facility when he got out, but he was arrested again a year later when he was caught sitting in his car by the high school and flogging his dog while he was watching some girls play soccer.”
Tiny looked over at Cora with a shocked expression. “He was beating up on his dog?” he said, sounding angry.
There was a cacophony of awkward sniggers, grunts, and giggles as the others shifted nervously in their seats.
“Um, not exactly,” Cora said to Tiny. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear.
He said, “Oh,” and turned as red as the maraschino cherry garnish in his chocolate-covered cherry martini.
“I agree that he sounds like the most likely suspect so far,” Sam said.
I agreed as well, and moved TJ to the top of my list.
“And that leaves us with Anna’s brother, Erik Hermann,” Cora said.
“Would he have killed and raped his own sister?” I said, feeling a little squeamish. It was sickening to think there were all these twisted people in the world.
“Anna wasn’t raped,” Tiny reminded us. “Only Lori was. And Erik had da hots for my sister.”
“Having the hots for a girl when you’re in high school doesn’t make you a killer,” Tad said.
“Except Lori didn’t like Erik back,” Tiny said angrily. “He made advances on her da day before she disappeared, and when she told him no he got real mad and slapped her. She didn’t tell me or my parents about it. Da police found out because Anna kept a diary and had written about it da night before.”
“A diary? That could be helpful,” Carter said. “I don’t suppose you have a copy of it?”
“I don’t,” Tiny said. “But da cops gave it back to her parents after dey copied everyt’ing in it.”
“Is there any way we can get a copy of it?” Carter asked.
Cora threw up her hands and said, “My computer skills won’t help with that.”
“Would Anna’s parents let you have a copy of it?” Sam asked Tiny.
“I don’t t’ink so,” he said, shaking his head and frowning. “Dey got pretty mad when dere son became a suspect. And I said some bad t’ings about Erik.”
“If the police made a copy of it, maybe we can get a copy from them,” I posed. “Nick and Tyrese come in here a lot,” I said, naming two of the local cops who frequented my bar both off duty for some R&R, and while on duty for my coffee. My brew was a hit with the local police. “Why don’t you guys ask one of them if they can get it?”
“You’re the one with the cop connection,” Tad said. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“I’m persona non grata with the PD right now. Besides,” I added, glancing at my watch, “I’ve got a date who will be here any minute, so I might not see them.”
“I doubt there’s much help to be had with the diary anyway,” Cora said. “If there was anything useful in there, the cops would have looked into it already.”
“You never know,” Sam said. “And it doesn’t hurt to ask. All they can do is say no.”
“I might have a better idea,” Carter said. “What if I approached Anna’s parents and told them I’m working on a true crime book based on the case? If I make it sound like I’m trying to exonerate their son, maybe they’d let me have a look at it.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” Sam repeated, giving his friend a nod of approval.
“What about talking to the friend Erik used as an alibi?” Joe suggested. “Mack could talk to him and use that special talent she has to see if he’s telling the truth.”
“I don’t know,” I said, frowning. “I’m not always right when it comes to that sort of stuff.”
“You could at least give it a try,” Joe persisted. “What have we got to lose?”
Everyone looked at me expectantly, awaiting my answer. Had it not been for the pleading expression of sad desperation on Tiny’s face, I probably would have said no. But I understood all too well how he felt since I’d been there myself with my father’s murder. “Okay,” I said, caving to the pressure. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“T’ank you,” Tiny said with a huge smile.
“Don’t thank me yet, and don’t get your hopes up too soon. I can’t promise anything.”
“I know,” Tiny said. “I know we may never find da answer but at least we’re trying. I want all of you to know dat I appreciate what you’re doing.” With that, he reached over and picked up one of the many papers that were spread out on the table next to him. He flipped it around to show it to me, revealing a smiling blond girl who had Tiny’s features. “Lori would say t’ank you, too, if she could,” he added.
As I stared at the face in the picture, so full of youthful life, young innocence, and hope for the future, I knew I wouldn’t rest until I’d done all I could to help Tiny find the culprit who had murdered his sister.