Shattered Lives (26 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Eureka, Missouri

The boys sat, or sprawled, on George’s and Billy’s bed.  They were tired out from messing around in the pool and full of pizza and cookies, soda and water. The boys had settled into quiet conversation, jokes and laughter.  Little attention was paid to the television.

              Randy had noticed that every now and then, Patrick smiled and laughed.  It wasn’t often, but when he did, his eyes lit up and the only way Randy could describe it was angelic.  It made Randy all the more sad, hoping that one day, Patrick would regain the inner strength and confidence he must have had before he was taken.  When he talked, which wasn’t much, he did so quietly, feeling his way out from whatever it was that still held him captive, even though he wasn’t in a locked room or on a floor in a building he couldn’t escape from.  He usually had one hand on Billy’s shoulder or forearm, and Billy didn’t seem to notice, but if he did, he didn’t seem to mind.

              Randy observed George glancing at him every now and then and when Patrick saw him, the two smiled and Patrick would reach out and touch George’s leg or arm, but the other hand never left Billy.

              “Patrick, since you’ve been back, has everything been okay?” Randy asked.

              Patrick shrunk back into himself.  His hand left Billy’s shoulder and joined his other as they fidgeted in his lap.  His eyes lowered, and he didn’t answer at first.

              Randy felt awful.  He glanced at Billy and George, not knowing what to say, wanting to apologize but unsure how.  Seldom was Randy speechless, but he found himself so now.

              “My parents are getting a divorce,” Patrick said quietly.

              Danny perked up.  Of the boys in the room, both he and Billy had been through that.  Danny bounced from his mom in Omaha to his dad in Waukesha and back again.   

              “They want me to pick who to live with,” Patrick said. “I can’t.  I don’t know how.”

              “Have you thought about the pros and cons of living with your mom or your dad?”

              Patrick glanced up at Randy, shrugged and fidgeted even more.  He shook his head.

              “What’re your sisters going to do?” Billy asked. “You’re what, the middle kid?”

              Patrick nodded. “I think my two sisters are going to live with my mom.”

              The boys waited, each of them uncomfortable with the silence.

              George realized he paralleled Patrick in that he had to decide between living with the twins and Jeremy or returning to his homeland and his Navajo people.  In George’s case, it was hard because the decision came down to living a different life and lifestyle, one that was different from the one he had been living.  The other thing that made it different was that George no longer had a mother or family to choose to live with, only his cousin.

              “I don’t know how to choose,” Patrick said.

              Danny said, “Look . . . Patrick . . . you don’t know me very well, and what I’m going to say stays in this room,” he looked right at Randy and then at Billy.  “Patrick, no matter what decision you make . . . it’s gonna suck.”

              All eyes turned to him.

              “Divorce sucks.  I know it happens.  I know sometimes parents don’t get along.  But it’s us who suffer.”

              As close as Danny was to Randy, Danny never hinted that he felt that way. Danny stared at Randy, then at Billy and George. 

Finally to Patrick he said, “I love my dad and I love my mom.  When I’m with my mom, I think of my dad all the time and want to be with him.  When I’m with my dad, I think of my mom and want to be with her.  It sucks, and I can’t stand it.”

              Randy reached out to touch Danny’s arm, but he pulled it away.

              Ignoring Randy, he said, “The thing is, Patrick, no matter what you decide, it’s gonna suck.  So what you have to decide is, what’s gonna suck the least . . . living with your dad or living with your mom.  That’s how you make your decision.  It’s what’s gonna suck the least.”

              Both Patrick and George nodded.  They understood.  Both had a decision to make and the decision sucked.  It sucked much worse for Patrick than for George, but it still sucked at least a little.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Chicago, Illinois

             
“We got it!”

              Pete sat up straighter, gripping his cell tighter. 

“
W
hat did you find?
              Chet was in hyper-mode, running on God knows how many Diet Cokes and Snickers, talking so quickly the words tumbled out of his mouth.  Pete had this picture of him, his green eyes wide, his red hair mussed, hands and arms flailing as he paced- if not ran- around the room.

              “You remember the false cupboard in the TV stand Rodemaker had at his house?”

              Pete had to think back.  Jim Rodemaker was a pedophile in Waukesha, Wisconsin.  A kid named Garrett reported him as the possible perp responsible for the abductions of Stephen and Mike after he saw their Amber Alert.  Garrett played soccer on Rodemaker’s soccer team, and he and several teammates had been molested by him.  When Pete and Jamie Graff showed up with a Knock-Search and a SWAT Team at Rodemaker’s house, they found one of Garrett’s teammates on a couch with Rodemaker.  He had a laptop full of porn and a lot of digital microphones and digital cameras hidden throughout house.  The laptop contained the website that led to Victor Bosch and the human trafficking ring that held the boys captive, including Tim and Brett and the others freed in Chicago, Long Beach and Kansas City.  Rodemaker, however, wasn’t responsible for Stephen’s or Mike’s abduction.

In a hidden cupboard in Rodemaker’s TV cabinet, Chet and Pete had located a digital recording system.  Conveniently, Rodemaker had catalogued and titled the various videotapes of his exploitations.  All of it was bagged as evidence, and this evidence, along with his confession, would be used to help convict Rodemaker of the rape and sexual abuse of preteen and teenaged boys.  Pete hoped he would serve a life sentence in prison.

“There was a recess in a wall in Cochrane’s condo,” Chet laughed. “I still don’t know how we found it.  We were just tapping on walls and stuff.”

“What did you find?” Pete said.

“$350K and three passports; one in Cochrane’s name and two others with his photo, but with different names.  A Sig Sauer Pro with two loaded mags, and a burn phone.  I gave the number to Billias, and he’s monitoring it just like the others.  I’m downloading what I can from it and cross-checking the numbers and texts with what we have.”

Pete stood up and began pacing back and forth in his room.

“And . . . this is really important. I did a hunt and found that the other names he used . . . the ones on the passports . . . had two different checking and savings accounts at two different banks.  He also had another condo in Thornridge on the Southside of Chicago.  We’ve got a warrant, and we’re going there now.”

The gears in Pete’s head spun, thinking of next steps and the steps after that.

“Who knows about this?”

“You, me, Skip, Summer and Morgan.”

“Okay.  I’ll let Dandridge know.  I want a lid on this.  There are people out there running around, and we aren’t sure who’s playing on what team . . . at least for sure.”

“No problem.  Once we check it out, I’ll be back in touch.”

“And Chet, you and Skip stay together and be careful.  I mean it.”

Finally a lead.  Pete didn’t know where it would go or to whom it would point to, but it was a lead. 

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Fishers, Indiana

             
“Bobby, stay here on the front lawn and wait for one of us to come get you!”

             
Brooke didn’t wait for Bobby’s answer.  She took the three steps up to the front door, stood to the side, turned the knob and pushed it open.

              “FBI.  Brett, I’m coming in.”

              “We’re in the kitchen,” he yelled back. “My fucking uncle’s not going anywhere.”

              She stepped in low and fast and cleared the front entrance and living room.  She moved down the hallway and entered the kitchen.

              “We need an ambulance,” Victoria said.

              Brooke determined that the crime scene was secure.

              “Brett, I need your gun.”

              He dislodged the magazine and ejected the bullet in the chamber and then handed her the gun by holding on to the barrel and put the magazine and bullet in her other hand. 

              “It’s MB’s.  I took it when Fuckhead wasn’t looking.”

              She stared down at Dominico.  He lay on the floor of the kitchen, bleeding from multiple wounds, and holding his crotch and writhing in pain.  A puddle, wet, dark and sticky had pooled around him. 

              She looked at Brett.  Indeterminate expression, at least none she could discern.

              They heard sirens in the distance. 

              In a flat, emotionless voice, Brett said, “His gun is over there on the floor.  He fired three shots.  One towards my mom.  It hit the salt shaker over there on the counter.  You can see the bullet entry.  If he were actually aiming at her, he would have shot her.  He fired two shots at MB hitting her in the stomach.”

              “Abdomen, lower left quadrant,” Victoria said. She turned around looking grim. “We need an ambulance,” she repeated.

              “It’s on the way.  What do you need me to do right now?”

              Victoria glared at her brother and said, “Arrest that son of a bitch on the floor.  You can do that.”

Pete showed up after the ambulance and two sets of squad cars.  Police tape had been set up, and the house had been cordoned off.  Neighbors had gathered on front lawns and front porches and watched nervously.  They were like moths to a flame, except in this case, the flame was the light bar on a cop car.

He held out his creds and nodded at this cop or that cop and entered the house and found paramedics working over MB.  Another group had stabilized Dominico and had loaded him up on a gurney and started an IV drip.  Pete walked over to make sure he was handcuffed to it, and he was. 

Just to be sure, he yanked the cuffs, causing Dominico to yell and one of the paramedics to say, “What the hell?”

He found Brooke standing in the family room, one hand on her holstered gun, the other relaxed at her side.  She was standing in front of Victoria, who sat on the couch with her arm around Bobby and her other hand on Brett’s knee.  He couldn’t tell what they were feeling because of their flat affect.

Pete turned to Brooke and asked, “Has Thomas been contacted?”

Brooke nodded and said, “He’s on his way back.  Tom Albrecht said they’re ten or fifteen minutes out.”

When Albrecht got the call from Brooke, he and Thomas were already at the university.  Tom had cleared the second floor and Thomas’ office, then went back down the hall and had waited by the main stairs, while Thomas went into his office.  Upon receiving the call from Brooke, Tom raced down the hall and burst in and found Tom and his TA in an amorous position on his desktop.

Disgusted, Tom said, “While you’re here groping a coed, Dominico showed up at your house and pulled a gun on your
wife
and your two boys.  The agent assigned to your family’s protection was shot and in serious condition.  Perhaps that’s more important than copping a feel or getting laid.  I’m leaving.  I suggest you do the same.”

Albrecht arrived well ahead of Thomas and jogged up the driveway and into the house.  He found the boys sitting on the couch with their mother.  Bobby spoke with one detective who knelt in front of him with a small notepad, while Brett spoke with another who had pulled up a kitchen chair. Both boys gave their accounts of what had taken place.  

MB and Dominico had been taken away by different ambulances.  A Crime Investigations Unit worked the scene.  He counted one taking photographs and one videotaping the scene in the kitchen.  Each wore plastic booties and latex gloves, which Albrecht could never understand because there were cops and agents all over the place traipsing around mucking up the scene without gloves or booties. He wanted to yell at them, and if he were in Waukesha, would have.  He wasn’t, so he didn’t.

Brooke introduced him to Pete, and they shook hands.  Just as Brooke began filling him in on what had transpired, Thomas entered the house and walked immediately into the family room.

“Dad!” Bobby yelled, interrupting his debrief.

Brett smiled at his dad, who smiled back briefly, and falsely, then looked at the floor.

Thomas looked at Victoria, who sighed and turned away from him, burying her face into Bobby’s hair as she pulled him closer to her.

Brett took it all in.  He looked at his mother curiously and then at his father, who stood there awkwardly in front of them with his hands stuffed into his brown plaid sport coat pockets.  Brett looked back at his mom and understood. 

His dad had been cheating on his mom.  And, his mom had known it was happening.