Stolen Lives : The Lives Trilogy Book 1 (12 page)

“Did anything else happen?”  Jamie asked.

“We watched a couple of videos, the ones like with Phil and Danny and Bret, but with other boys I didn’t recognize.”

Garrett looked down at his hands and was quiet for a while.

“Coach said it was okay.  We were friends and beginning to trust each other and that I was on my way to being the captain.

“That night, he made me sleep in his bed.  I told him I could sleep on the couch, but he looked all sad.  I knew that if I didn’t, he wouldn’t trust me.  So I did.”

“That’s enough.  No more,” Keith said.

“You’re right,” Jeremy said.  “Garrett, look at me.” and then he repeated, “Look at me.”

When he was sure Garrett was looking at him and ready to listen, he said, “You’re the bravest person in this room.  What you did tonight will save many other kids from having to go through what you went through.  No child, no young man should ever have to go through what you went through.  Ever.”  He let that sink in and said, “You’re incredibly brave, and I’m very, very proud of you.”

“I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you’ll get over this, just like I did,” Randy said.  “You
will
get over this.  You’re parents will help . . . and I’ll help.”

Garrett wiped away more tears and buried his chin on his chest.

“I feel dirty,” he said through sobs.

“No!” Randy barked. “Never feel like that.  If you do, then that asshole’s won, and you can’t let him win.” 

Garrett looked at him.

“You can feel sad and maybe feel ashamed for a little while.  You told us your story and because of that, you’re going to send that son of a bitch away for a long time.  That’s something to be proud of.”

Jeremy had not heard Randy speak like this in a long time.  He stared at Randy who was breathing hard, staring intently at Garrett.  Finally, Garrett nodded at Randy, and Randy gave him a hug.

“Garrett, your dad and I love you very much no matter what you think.  We always will.”

“That’s right, Kiddo.  You’re my son, and I love you,” Keith said. 

“I’m sorry,” Garrett said looking up at him.

“Hey, weren’t you listening?”  Keith said as he strode across the room to kneel in front of his son.  “No matter what, I love you.”

Garrett nodded as he let his dad and mom hug him.

“I never did get to be captain.”

“I know,” Keith said.  “It’s okay, Kiddo.  It’s okay.”

Pete and Jamie huddled for a private conversation and then broke apart and pulled out their cell phones, and during his conversation on the phone, Jamie motioned to Jeremy to join him.

“We’re getting the warrant signed,” he said to Jeremy half-covering his phone, and then to both whoever was on the other end and to Jeremy, he said, “We’ll meet you there.  No, we won’t move until we get the warrant.  Yeah, Boss.”

“Ready to roll?”  Jamie said to Pete.

“Yup.  They’re about ten minutes out and will meet up at the house.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The ride was silent except for the noise of tires on asphalt.  The radio wasn’t on and none of the boys spoke.  Randy sat in the back staring out the window at nothing in particular.  Jeremy spent as much time watching him through the rearview mirror as he did on the road ahead of him.  Every now and then, Billy, who sat shotgun, would turn to look at him, but Randy didn’t or wouldn’t make eye contact.  For all Jeremy or Billy knew, Randy didn’t even know Billy had turned in his seat to look at him.  He was in his own world thinking God knew what, Jeremy couldn’t fathom.

George sat next to Randy in silence.  Jeremy figured that part of his silence, perhaps a great deal of his silence, was the profound sadness if not shock of losing his entire family.  He hadn’t even had time to grieve.  Jeremy was concerned about George, but Randy was his son.  He had never seen Randy react like he had before this evening at the Forstadt house. Something had triggered it, and he wasn’t sure what it was.  And given Randy’s disposition, his stubbornness, it would be a while before Randy would talk about it with him. 

But he also knew that Randy was an incessant journal writer, and it wouldn’t be long before Randy’s journal would appear open on Jeremy’s bed or somewhere else he’d be sure to find it.  Jeremy would read it and then the two of them would talk. 

He was equally certain that Randy and Billy would talk much sooner than he and Randy would.  Though they had only been living together for just under three years after being raised separately for the better part of eleven years, there was both a spoken and unspoken bond between the twins that seemed eerie at times and downright spooky at others.  One would begin a sentence that the other would finish.  There were times when they would look at each other, somehow communicating silently with each other.  Other times, when one was sick, the other knew it and took on the same symptoms.  They were never far apart from each other.  Billy would read while Randy wrote, or Randy would listen to music, while Billy watched TV.  One might be in a different room, but they would have to check in on each other if only to verify they were nearby.

Jeremy had phoned ahead to let Jon and Bert know they were coming.  He walked the boys into the house, briefly told Jon and Bert what had taken place and asked that they be watchful of both Randy and George.  Jon shook Jeremy’s hand, then gave him a hug and said he and Bert would take good care of them until he returned.  As he left, he turned to look at the three boys sitting silently on the couch; Randy, looking out the window; Billy, studying his hands; George, staring at the floor.

*                                                        *                                                        *

Jeremy sat in the back seat, while Jamie drove with Pete riding shotgun.  They didn’t say much to each other as they were into their own thoughts.  Jeremy was worried about Randy, feeling guilty because he wasn’t helping George through his grief, and guilty because he wasn’t worried about Billy. 
What the hell kind of counselor and father was he?

Pete’s phone went off.

Not recognizing the number, he said, “Kelliher.”

“Pat Blizel, Marinette County Sheriff.  You were up here earlier today investigating a triple homicide.”

Earlier today?
  Pete thought. 
Impossible!
That was days ago, wasn’t it?

“What have you got?” was all he said.

“I think we found the van involved in the homicide.  Ran the plates.  It was stolen from a parking garage in downtown Milwaukee.  We’ve contacted the Wausau Crime Lab and Roz is on the way.”

“Let me give Skip Dahlke a call.  He was in Arizona running a crime scene for me, and I think he might be in your area.  Button it up until he gets there.  Nothing gets touched.  No one moves a thing.”

“Got it.  I’ll wait to hear from you,” he said punching off.

Pete checked his phone log and found James Dahlke’s number and dialed it.

“Yeah,” James said through a yawn, sounding more than tired.

“Skip, where are you right now?”

“On my way to Pembine.  Why?”

“Is that where the triple homicide took place?”

“Yeah.  Got a call from Roz.  She’s meeting me there, but I should be there first.”

“Thanks.  I owe you.  Try to get fingerprints and DNA if possible.  Keep me posted, Skip, okay?’

“Yup.  Call you later.”

*                                                        *                                                        *

There were several neighborhoods on County Road F that led one after the other to the fringe of Waukesha County and eventually to the city of New Berlin.  Small, single-story ranches on quarter- to half-acre lots, gave way to two-story homes on half- to three-quarter acre lots.  Then there were large homes with expansive lawns and long driveways.  These houses sat on five- and six-acre lots.  Finally further out on F was horse property with all the trimmings on fifteen-plus-acre lots.

Rodemaker lived in one of the first neighborhoods, a fairly large, but older ranch in the kind of neighborhood where you’d find bicycles on the lawn, kids shooting hoops, and adults jogging or walking the dog.  There was an attached two-car garage on the right side of the house, with a dark, Toyota Four-Runner in the driveway.  That meant the two year-old Mazda was in the garage.  A large hedge-row of Barrel Arborvitae ringed the backyard, but in front of the chain-link fence making the backyard a square and fairly secure and very private.  A cement and red brick patio with a grill, hot tub, picnic table and chairs, and a hammock, sat in front of a sliding glass door.  According to the officer on surveillance, the hot tub was in use, and the slider was open.  A screen door separated the patio from the family room.  This would make entry through the back fairly easy.

There was at least one youngster in the house with Rodemaker, and according to the officer, the boy didn’t seem to be there against his will.  The officer could hear conversation between the two, and though he couldn’t make out the words, it seemed friendly.  There was laughter and a familiarity between Rodemaker and the boy.

*                                                        *                                                        *

A total of four detectives from the Waukesha Police Department including Jamie, two Sheriff Deputies from the Waukesha County Sheriff Department, a uniformed patrolman from the Waukesha Police Department, the Captain of the Waukesha Police Department Detective Unit, who was Jamie’s boss, and members of the FBI Crimes Against Children Unit including Pete, Chet and Summer huddled around the hood of the car.  Jamie would be the lead detective.  Jeremy stood behind them listening but not contributing to the discussion.  The only reason he was there was because there was at least one child in the home, possibly more, but from the surveillance, that was doubtful.  He was there to work as a counselor.

Captain Jack O’Brian, the scene supervisor, held the warrant for the search of the Rodemaker home.  The search included anything and everything in the home, from videos and DVDs and any equipment for recording and playback, to any paper documents, to cell phones and their records, PDAs and anything else that seemed pertinent.  If there was a computer, it too could be taken, and a second warrant gave them permission for a forensic computer search.  Detective George Chan, who everyone called Charlie, held the video camera and would record all of it.

It was a Knock Knock Search, which meant that the doorbell would be rung and then entry by ramming the door open.  The house would be breached from the front, while two detectives and a sheriff’s deputy would secure the backyard in case anyone tried to run.  They decided on a Knock Knock Search rather than a Dynamic Entry with SWAT because it was determined that Rodemaker wasn’t a known violent offender.  He had no record.  The child or children didn’t appear to be in any danger, and a Dynamic Entry might place the child or children in danger unwittingly.  Therefore, they would announce and enter.

Seven would enter from the front and none from the back because they didn’t want to create a crossfire situation.  Jamie had laughed at and told Jeremy that the stuff everyone watched on TV shows was crap and only for glitz.  Detectives Reilly and Gates would find the child or children and protect them.  Guns would be drawn and held in first positive safety, which meant that fingers would be on the barrel, not on the trigger, not only because Rodemaker wasn’t known to be violent, but also because a child or children were on the premises.  FBI would serve as backup and enter with the group from the front.  Jeremy would remain in a car and would be summoned only when the house had been completely cleared, and it was safe to do so.

Everyone had a radio with earpiece, and each did a final check to make sure they were on and working.  The groups split up, one working its way around the back, while the other waited down the street until everyone was ready.

“Captain . . . we’re in position.”

“We’re moving now.  On my go, only.  Do you copy?”

“Copy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A patrol officer rang the doorbell and announced, “Waukesha Police Department, we have a warrant,” and another officer blew the door open.

First through the door, Detective Gary Fitzpatrick took off down the hallway after seeing Rodemaker jump up from the couch and run.  Fitz threw a shoulder into him, sending him headlong on shag carpet.  His head made a dull thud as it hit the wall at the end of the hallway, near a bathroom.  Fitz smiled to himself, satisfied, then planted his knee firmly in the small of Rodemaker’s bare back as he simultaneously read him his rights and handcuffed him.

Jamie knelt at the couch hovering slightly over a shocked and crying boy, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to comfort him, but listening as his detectives yelled “Clear” one after another as various rooms were entered with guns drawn.  It seemed like a long time, but in truth, it took only fifteen seconds before the main floor was determined safe.  The basement was searched next and in the same way.  The entire process took only twenty-six seconds from the entry to the final “clear”.   

Jamie led the boy to a back bedroom where he was given his clothes and told to dress.  Jamie radioed for Jeremy who came into the house in a jog.  He hesitated in the entry way, stepping lightly, cautiously, into the foyer, and then followed Pete’s direction to the back of the house, peering into rooms as he went.  By the time he found the room with Jamie and Detective Gates, the boy was dressed except for his bare feet.  He sat on the bed and hung his head, still crying. 

Jamie said, “Son, what’s your name?”

The boy didn’t look at him, but said, “Scott . . . Scott Carrigan.”

“Scott, I want you to talk with my friend Jeremy and with Detective Gates.  They’re going to ask you some questions, and I want you to be as honest with them as you can.  Then, we’re going to take you to Waukesha Memorial Hospital, so you can be checked by a doctor.  Okay?”

Scott nodded, but asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ say anything!  You hear me?  Don’t say a fuckin’ thing!”  Rodemaker yelled from the hallway, just outside the room.

“Shut the fuck up you fuckin’ pervert,” Fitzpatrick snarled, grinding his knee deeper into Rodemaker’s back making Rodemaker groan.

“No Scott, you’re not in trouble,” Jeremy said.  “We’re just going to talk for a bit before you go to the hospital.  But I want you to believe me when I say you are not in any trouble.”

The last part he said, taking hold of the boy’s hands.

“You have no right to be in my house.  Get the fuck out!  I’ll fuckin’ sue you!  I want my lawyer.”

“You’re gonna need one!” Fitz said into his ear.

While the boy was at the hospital, his parents would be notified in person by Jamie, Pete and Jeremy, which according to Jamie, “will fuckin’ suck so bad!”

Jamie nodded at Jeremy as he left the room to direct the search, leaving Jeremy to interview the scared boy with Gates taking notes.

“Fitz, take that scumbag into his bedroom to get some pants on and then into the other room so Jeremy and Gates can have some privacy with the boy.”

Fitzpatrick yanked Rodemaker up off the floor and pushed him into the master bedroom and threw a pair of black, nylon sweatpants at him, telling him to get dressed.  When he did so, struggling because his hands were cuffed behind his back, Fitz pushed him a couple of times back to the front of the house and then pushed him one last time onto the couch.

George ‘Charlie’ Chan and Summer moved through the house looking for everything and anything that could be used against him.  Given the information Garrett had provided, they found the DVD collection in the cupboard behind the TV.  Thanks to Rodemaker, they were nicely categorized with the name of each boy, the date, and in some cases, the location.  Two of the DVDs were listed as taken in Chicago with a boy named Tim and the other with a boy named Johnny listed on the case.  One DVD was listed as taken in Los Angeles with a boy named Colin.

“Get the fuck away from my DVDs,” Rodemaker yelled.  You have no right!”

Summer turned to Chan and said, “You get that?”

He nodded and said, “Yup.  Crystal clear.”

“This your stereo system and computer?”  Summer asked nonchalantly.

“Damn right,” Rodemaker snarled. “Get the fuck away from it.”

“Camera and cell phone too?”

“This is my house.  I own it and everything in it.  Get the fuck out of here.  I know my rights!”

“Shut up, Pervert,” Fitz muttered.

“Dusting for prints will be easy,” Summer said with a smile. She turned to Rodemaker and said, “Thank you.”

Rodemaker didn’t answer.  Just glared at her. 

Nothing was touched without it being filmed and numbered.  Videos were placed in paper bags, so there wasn’t any chance of moisture damaging them.  The outside of each bag was marked with the numbers on each of the videos.  Other items were placed in clear evidence bags but marked with its contents. 

Pete had a fleeting idea to contact Skip Dahlke, but knew Dahlke was already knee deep in the investigation of the van in Pembine, about five or six hours to the north.  Besides, Waukesha had its own forensics team and would use the crime lab out of Milwaukee to analyze and process any DNA found in the house, on the boy’s clothes and the PERK kits.  Still, Pete kind of liked the innocent ‘geekiness’ of Dahlke; bright, very bright actually, with a quirkiness that was endearing.

Chet hadn’t moved to work on the computer at all, instead focusing on Rodemaker’s home theater and stereo system.  Pete had told him that the videos Garrett saw of several boys were taken in Rodemaker’s house.  That meant that there had to be a camera system connected so he could film himself with the boys he brought here.  That also meant that the cameras were connected to a recorder somewhere in the house.  It wasn’t visible, or at least, not that Chet had seen so far.

Loud enough so Rodemaker could hear, he said, “Pete, pretend you were a pervert like Rodemaker, and you wanted make home movies reliving your conquests. You would place the cameras in places where the kids wouldn’t see them, yet film everything you could.”  He paused and looked at Pete.  “Where would you hide them?”

“Garrett said he started in the hot tub.”

Both men walked to the patio, turned on the lights and searched the perimeter of the house for any visible cameras.  They didn’t find anything that remotely looked like a camera.

Pete walked over to the hot tub, put his back to it, and faced the house.  He was staring at the sliding patio door.  To the left and right were patio lights.  Ordinary looking.  Nothing on the roof looking downward.  To the left of the sliding door was a window behind the kitchen sink.  In front of the window sat a small box planter with a mix of yellow marigolds and purple and white petunias.

“Chet, check the lights on either side of the slider.”

Chet first inspected them and then carefully unscrewed the top, carefully exposing the light bulb.

“Well hello,” Chet said.  “Look what I found?”

“Summer, can you and Detective Chan come out on the patio?”

Summer led Chan out to the patio with Chan still taping.  Chet pointed to the small, but high-powered camera.

“This is wireless, and I’m willing to bet it’s motion sensitive.”

He inspected the other light fixture in the same manner but didn’t find any other camera.

“Garrett said after the hot tub, they went to the couch.  There’s got to be a camera stashed opposite the couch because that’s where Rodemaker molested him again.”

The group went into the family room and stood in front of the couch.  They faced a forty inch, high definition, flat screen Samsung TV with a Panasonic Home Theater System.  On the left was the now empty cabinet that had contained the DVD collection.  On the other side were two bookcases.  The one closest to the TV contained more DVDs, but of the commercial variety, and heavy on action-adventure.  The other bookcase contained books (John Sanford, James Patterson, and Michael Connolly mostly) and various knickknacks with a few scented candles.  The room was lit by a ceiling fan with a light kit, as well as recessed lights above the TV.  Table lamps sat on end tables on either side of the couch.

Pete said, “Fan is a little high, but a possibility.  I’m guessing somewhere on or around the TV system.”

Captain O’Brien and Detective Reilly joined the others in the room as they searched for hidden cameras.  One of the officers found a stepladder in the garage, brought it in, and Reilly climbed up and searched the ceiling fan and light kit. 

Eventually three cameras were found.  Reilly found one in the ceiling fan, while Chet found one in one of the speakers in the home theater system, and Summer found a camera in one of the table lamps.  As they went through the house, they also found a camera in the guest bathroom air vent.  They found another in the master bedroom ceiling fan and one in the light on the nightstand.  They found an additional camera in the guest bedroom ceiling fan.  Eight cameras found in all.  Yet, they had not found the recording device the cameras fed.

They moved back to the family room to examine the wall facing the couch.  Walls were tapped to determine if there were any hollowed out pockets or false walls.

Nothing.

“The DVDs of the kids were in this cabinet,” Summer said pointing to the cabinet on the left.

She wrapped it with her knuckles trying to find a hollow spot.  She pushed it once, then twice, and it swung open a couple of inches.  She opened it the entire way and found a recorder, still on, still recording.

“Detective Chan, can you please film this?”

As he did so, Pete’s cell buzzed.