Chapter Nineteen

 

If a missing child wasn’t found in the first forty-eight hours, they probably never would be. Emily Michaelson had been missing for nearly twenty-six. Radhauser glanced at his watch. He needed a solid suspect. Now. What the hell was taking Vernon so long?

Detective Vernon tapped on Radhauser’s office door, then stepped inside. “I got Stefan Wysocki in the interrogation room. He’s our man.” Vernon’s face was red, the way it got when he was excited. He’d taken off his blazer and there were circles of perspiration under his arms. He held up an evidence bag holding a 6-inch high stuffed bear. It wore a blue T-shirt with the words Children’s Health Fair and the logo of the local hospital printed across the back. A plastic stethoscope hung around the bear’s neck. “We found this in his bedroom. I checked with the fair’s coordinator. They only handed them out to kids under six.”

Radhauser’s muscles went loose in relief. “Nice work,” he said, feeling hopeful for the first time since Emily disappeared. “It’s about time we caught a break.” He tucked the bear into his briefcase to pull out when they needed it.

Vernon jerked over a chair and sat in front of the desk. He looked both frazzled and exhausted—probably hadn’t gotten any more sleep last night than Radhauser had.

“This is what I know about the scumbag,” Vernon said. “He’s got no sheet. But he lives alone in that expensive high rise near Mountainside Elementary. Tenth floor. Overlooking the playground. We found binoculars on his bedside table.”

The headache that had dogged Radhauser all morning ratcheted up a notch as he imagined the small playground behind Lizzie’s preschool. Little girls on swings, their skirts lifting in the wind. Little girls clambering around on the monkey bars and seesaws. He clamped his eyes shut, hoping the images would go away. “Do you ever wonder why we keep doing this job?”

“Every day,” Vernon said.

As a detective, Radhauser had seen almost everything, but nothing repulsed him quite as much as the twisted mind that allowed a grown man to take an innocent little girl and use her for his pleasure. If anyone ever laid a hand on Lizzie—

Vernon opened Wysocki’s laptop and downloaded a file. He slipped the computer across the desktop to Radhauser. It was filled with photographs of little girls in bathing suits. Little girls in party dresses with ruffles and patent leather shoes. Toddlers wearing sailor suits and Easter bonnets.

“He had an entire bedroom full of kiddie lingerie, child-sized sequined evening gowns. Even boxes of tiny high heels in every color. It was fucking creepy. But it was the teddy bear that convinced me.”

They spent a few moments discussing strategy, then Radhauser stood, slapped a hand on Vernon’s back. “Let’s get this over with. Try not to scare him into silence.” Radhauser worried about Vernon. This case was getting to him and it showed.

By the time they stepped into the interrogation room, the two west-facing windows were already steamed up. It was a small, olive green room, about eight feet by eight feet. It held only a square wooden table with circular stains from coffee cups and coke cans, a tape recorder and four mismatched wooden chairs.

Stefan Wysocki stood in the center of the room, his right hand slipped casually into the pocket of his slacks like a fashion model. He was a good-looking man—slender, but broad in the chest and shoulders. “How may I be of help, detectives?”

Despite his handsome features, his body looked like it had been made from parts taken from other bodies—his arms too short for his long legs, his head a little too big for his slender neck. His dark hair was neatly styled as if he was ready to broadcast the weather on national television. He wore a starched white shirt open at the neck, and a tan linen jacket with brass buttons. He looked like a man who never passed a mirror without casting a lingering glance into it.

Radhauser pulled out a chair and motioned to Wysocki. “Thank you for coming in.”

Wysocki sat, adjusted the creases on his pants, and then folded his long-fingered hands in front of the recorder that rested on the table. His nails were neatly filed and had a pink sheen.

Radhauser cringed, pictured Wysocki painting Emily’s fingernails and then his own.

“Ever since I heard it on the news,” Wysocki said, “I’ve been worried sick about that little girl. But I’m meeting a client at four.” He had the soft, melodious voice of a man who could convince any little girl to help him look for a lost kitten. A man who knew how to get what he wanted.

“I understand you’re in an interesting line of work, Mr. Wysocki,” Radhauser said. “Would you tell us a little bit about it?”

“Pageant attire for girls in sizes 2-T to 6X. Three-toddler is my most popular line. I guess you could say I consult on wardrobe issues. And I put together photographic portfolios for contestants.” Wysocki shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

Vernon walked to the corner of the room and backed into it, watching Wysocki intently as if trying to get a sense of what went on in his brain.

Wysocki looked over at Vernon and flashed him a big smile, a wink, and a pinkie wave. The cocky son of a bitch.

“Don’t wink at me, you…”

Radhauser shot Vernon a look and set his briefcase on the floor. He pulled out the chair across from the suspect, then turned on the tape recorder. He stated the date, time, and location, and that Detectives Radhauser and Vernon were interviewing Stefan Wysocki, a person of interest in the Emily Michaelson case.

Wysocki listened, then glared at Vernon. “Person of interest? You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with that little girl’s disappearance.”

“Well, gee whiz,” Vernon said. “Could it be because you’re always hanging around the park, taking photos of little girls?”

“Did you check the ice cream shop?” Wysocki jeered. “I hear the last missing kid was found napping under a table there.”

Beneath the bravado, Radhauser heard a hint of fear.

“You’ve got no probable cause. Do I need to call my lawyer?”

“You’re certainly entitled to do that,” Radhauser said. “But we’re not arresting you. We just have a few questions. And you were nice enough to come in.”

Vernon moved closer. He softened his voice. “Like how do you explain the kiddie porn on your computer?”

“There’s nothing pornographic about those pictures. And lots of people like little girls. Why do you think those kid beauty pageants are so popular?”

A line of sweat broke just under Radhauser’s hairline and trailed slowly down the back of his neck. The little girls in Wysocki’s online photo album were around Emily’s age—between three and four years old. “My daughter is interested in competing,” Radhauser lied, hoping to lower Wysocki’s guard, make him less defensive. “Maybe you can show me and my wife some of your outfits.”

“It would be my pleasure. I’ve got the best selection in the valley. Some of them are…” He paused, shrugged. “Sweetly provocative. Just perfect for pageants.”

Provocative. The word echoed inside Radhauser’s brain, his thoughts coming rough and relentless. What kind of person found a three-year-old girl provocative? He sucked in a breath. “Do you spend much time in the Lithia Park playground?”

“That park has an incredible variety of bird species. It’s beautiful and inspirational. My true calling is poetry. And I’m published, I might add.” He lifted his chin.

Vernon laughed, then pulled out the other chair and sat next to Radhauser. “Would that be in the National Association of Perverts Anthology?”

“Go ahead and make your stupid jokes. You have no idea how hard it is to get poetry published. I’ve placed a few of my photographs, too.”

“Congratulations,” Radhauser said. “Were you in the park yesterday?”

“Half of Ashland was there.”

“I know. I’ve spoken with a lot of them. But were you there?”

“I’m trying to remember.”

“You’re a little young for Alzheimer’s. Besides, I have signed statements from two witnesses, former clients of yours. Both of them saw you near the park playground yesterday, taking photographs. It was about the time Emily Michaelson went missing.”

Wysocki shifted in his chair, lifted the cuff of his shirt and checked his watch. “People lie all the time. Besides, that little girl was snatched from the women’s restroom.”

Vernon stared at him for a long moment. “Listen, you little faggot. With a fucking wig on, you’d be able to use the women’s restroom. I heard rumors you enjoy dressing like a woman.”

Wysocki jerked back in his chair as if he’d been slapped. “I most certainly do not.” His pale cheeks reddened. “Why are you harassing me?”

“Do you carry costumes as part of your fashion line?” Radhauser asked.

Wysocki nodded. “Child pageants often include interpretive dance or acting as part of the talent segment.”

“Do you have access to bear costumes?”

“Why, Detective Radhauser, do you need one?” There was a mocking tone to his voice.

Radhauser wanted nothing more than to slap that wise-ass attitude off Wysocki’s face, but he wasn’t the kind of detective who resorted to violence.

“I suppose I could order a bear costume if one of my clients wanted one.”

Radhauser felt the heat rising on the back of his neck. “Have you ever worn a bear costume, Mr. Wysocki?”

Wysocki jumped to his feet. “The cops searched my apartment. They didn’t find any evidence to support that claim.” He puffed out his chest. “I told you my line is for toddlers and preschool girls. You may have noticed I’m a bit larger than a size 6X.”

“Sit down,” Radhauser said, his head throbbing. “Tell me why you were in the park yesterday.”

Wysocki sat. “It was a beautiful day. The fair, the music, all the kids running around. I snapped a few photos on my way to an early dinner. No law against that, is there?”

“Where did you eat?”

“Angela’s Grill. It was too early for the dinner menu so I sat outside by the creek and had a glass of wine. Pinot Gris.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Radhauser asked.

“The place was packed, what with the fair and all. Now, I need to get going.” Wysocki pushed his chair back from the table. “This client is important. Poets don’t make much money. And I’d like to pay my rent and keep eating.”

“We’re not done with you yet,” Vernon said.

“If you have some legitimate reason for keeping me here, detectives, I’d like to hear it.”

Vernon slapped his hand on the table.

Wysocki flinched.

“You tell me exactly what you did to Emily Michaelson and where we can find her,” Vernon said.

“I never saw that little girl. I did nothing. I got no idea where you can find her. But I’m calling my attorney. Now.” He flapped his hands in front of his face.

Good, Radhauser thought. The cocky son of a bitch was getting nervous. Radhauser pushed his chair away from the table, stood, and brought Wysocki the phone. Vernon was pushing too hard. Radhauser needed the freedom to question Wysocki without the silencing presence of his lawyer. “It’s 3:15. Your attorney would need at least an hour to get here. Why don’t we go ahead and wrap this up so you can keep that appointment?”

Wysocki placed the phone back into its cradle. He nodded and a strand of hair slid over his forehead. He raked it back with fingers that seemed to tremble. “No matter what either of you think, I’m innocent of this.”

From his briefcase, Radhauser pulled the evidence bag with the teddy bear inside. “Would you like to tell me where you got this?”

Wysocki’s brow furrowed, the line of his jaw rigid. “At the Children’s Health Fair. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Was Emily with you?” Vernon asked.

“I already told you I was alone.”

“They only gave these bears to children under six,” Radhauser said.

“I found it on a bench near the playground. I planned to give it to my nephew.”

“Did you see anyone wearing a Winnie the Pooh costume carrying a little girl?” Radhauser asked.

“The park was filled with people in bear costumes. Lots of them were carrying kids.”

“Emily had on a red jacket and a pair of rainbow-colored sneakers. She was holding a yellow balloon.”

Wysocki shook his head. “There were so many.”

His face contorted, Vernon stood and paced. He pulled a small pair of thick, cotton panties from his pants pocket—the same kind Lizzie wore when they were potty training her.

Radhauser was pissed. Vernon hadn’t mentioned this piece of evidence. It wasn’t bagged, hadn’t been through the regular chain of evidence. What was going on here?

Setting the panties on the table, Vernon grabbed Wysocki’s arm. “Did you find these on a bench, too?”

Wysocki stared at them and then his gaze shifted between Radhauser and Vernon, disbelief frozen on his face. He picked up the phone and called his lawyer, but he was out of the office and wasn’t expected back until morning.

“See how they’re stained yellow,” Vernon said. “You scared Emily so much she pissed herself.” His voice lilted a little, the way voices sometimes do when they lie. He sat down again.

A shiver passed through Radhauser. Vernon knew how he felt about coercing a suspect with planted evidence. He’d deliberately withheld his plan.

“I…I…I…never saw those before. I…I…don’t know anything about them. This is entrapment.” Wysocki kept shaking his head. His brow was soaked in sweat. His voice cracked, and he looked so scared that Radhauser almost felt pity for him.

Grabbing Wysocki by the shoulders, Vernon shook him hard. “The tooth fairy must have planted them under your pillow. Now tell us where Emily is.”

Wysocki twisted away from Vernon. “Are you deaf? I swear I don’t know where that little girl is or how those got in m…m…my bed.”

His hopes sinking, Radhauser studied him.

The room went silent except for the fluorescent light hissing above them.

Wysocki looked at Radhauser. His face had loosened, turned soft with fear. “About the underpants,” he said. “I can only think of one, pretty farfetched, possibility. My sister spends the night sometimes. Her husband’s a real jerk when he’s drinking. I give her and her son my bed and sleep out on the sofa.”

Leaning across the table until his nose was just inches from the suspect’s, Vernon stared into Wysocki’s eyes. “Do you like to play dress up with little boys, too, Stefan?”

Wysocki squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, God, no.”

“Does your sister trust you alone with her kid?” Vernon asked.

Wysocki’s face twisted as if the question had caused him pain. “Of course she does. I’m his uncle. She knows I’d never hurt Flynn. Besides, I change my sheets every Saturday evening. I…I…would have found those pants yesterday if they were there.”

As much as Radhauser hated to admit it, Wysocki was telling the truth. He was a strange man, with an unusual profession, but he didn’t kidnap Emily. He’d been at the job long enough to develop a radar about truth and lies.

Radhauser was about to let Wysocki go when Vernon slid a naked photo of a little girl onto the table. It was one of the photos they’d confiscated from a known pedophile. The child was standing in a bathtub, her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder at the camera, a sultry look on her face.

Wysocki glanced at it, then quickly looked away.

“Do you find this sweetly provocative, Mr. Wysocki?” Vernon asked.

Wysocki’s gaze returned to and lingered on the photo. He stared at Radhauser for a second before his gaze darted back again.

For the next thirty seconds, Vernon said nothing. “Stand up, Stefan,” he finally demanded. “Now.”

When Wysocki hesitated, Vernon grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Wysocki tried to cover the front of his trousers with his hands, but Vernon jerked them away.

The suspect was obviously erect. His entire face flushed and a pulse beat in one of the veins at his temple. “I know you think I’m some kind of scum because of my line of work.” There was an edge of hysteria sliding into his voice. He sat back down, put his face in his hands. He seemed to curl into himself and when he lifted his head, there were tears in his eyes.

“Just looking at a naked three-year-old gave you a hard-on,” Vernon said. “What are we supposed to think?”

“Okay. Okay. I find little girls’ b…b…bodies beautiful. The way they hold a hint of the woman they’ll one day become. I want to be near them. Hear them laugh. But I’m not some kind of p…p…pervert. And I swear to you I’ve never, not one time in my whole life, acted on my feelings.”

Radhauser pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Wysocki was most likely a sexual deviant. But they couldn’t hold the man for getting an erection. “You’re free to go, Mr. Wysocki. And I’m sorry for the inconvenience. But there is something you can help me with.”

Maybe they could salvage something from this interview.

Relief washed over Wysocki’s face. He stood and shot a glance toward Vernon, then looked back at Radhauser. “You treated me with respect and I’ll help you in any way I can, Detective Radhauser. As long as I don’t have to talk to that asshole again.”

Vernon slammed out of the room.

Radhauser escorted Wysocki to the door. “I’d like to take a look at the photos you snapped in the park yesterday.”

“No problem. I’ll bring them by later.” Wysocki slipped a business card from his inside coat pocket and handed it to Radhauser. “Give me a call and we’ll set up an appointment for you and the missus.”

As soon as the door closed, Radhauser ripped the card into pieces and tossed them into the garbage can.