The Sleuth Sisters (3 page)

“I think he meant Mr. Wozniak—Stan. He insisted Neil killed Carina and Carson. For years after the murders, he spent every free minute and a ton of money trying to find Neil. He even moved his main office from Detroit back up here. He was like a bulldozer, pushing the police, offering rewards for information leading to Neil’s capture, and giving TV interviews where he claimed Neil was abusive. He made my brother sound like a Neanderthal.”

“And what is he really like?” Barb’s tone was casual, but I heard a test in the undertone. In her career she’d probably heard every excuse family members give for errant relatives.

Meredith’s demeanor softened. “Neil’s a normal Michigan redneck: tough, hardworking, and not very demonstrative. But he had a creative streak, too. He could always think outside the ordinary.” Taking her wallet out of her purse, she removed a picture from the plastic file and passed it across the desk. “He’s very good looking. I guess that’s what attracted Carina.”

Barb studied the photo then gave it to me. It had a dog-eared corner and looked like it had bumped around in there for a long time. I rose and went to the scanner, listening to the conversation as the machine buzzed, chugged, and spit out a copy.

“What were your brother’s hobbies and interests?” Barb asked. Most missing people are found because they continue some activity they enjoy. They don’t realize their subscription to a stamp collecting magazine or their passion for Farmville can help locate them, even if they move away and change their name.

Meredith touched the incision near her temple lightly but turned the gesture into grooming, smoothing her hair. “The usual: hunting, fishing, music, softball. I know he doesn’t sound sensitive, but—” She groped for an example. “When I was thirteen I got strep throat just before Junior High Prom. As soon as I was better, Neil got all dressed up and took me to a fancy restaurant for a nice dinner, to make me feel better about missing the dance.”

Barb seemed unimpressed. Even a double murderer might take pity on a little sister as cute as Meredith and give up one evening of cruising Main Street looking for action.

“May I ask why you’re pursuing this now? It’s been years.”

Meredith straightened her spine and returned the photo to her wallet before answering. “First, my parents are dead, Mom five years ago and Dad last fall. They always thought Neil was better off wherever he is, since it isn’t prison. Second, I have a job now and can pay your fee.” Barb gave me a quick glance. Would we take money from a girl just out of college, with her first job and a load of student loans to pay off? Just enough to save her pride, I guessed.

“Next, it’s not fair to Brooke to have these lies continue.”

Barb frowned. “Brooke?”

“The baby.” I spoke without conscious intent.

Meridith nodded. “Carina was pregnant, and they were able to save the baby. Neil doesn’t know it, but he has a six-year-old daughter who looks just like him.”

“You have the child?”

She smiled. “Grandpa and Aunt Meri, we did it together. But now I—” She swallowed. “I have to have surgery in the very near future.” Her hand started upward, toward the incision, but she set it back in her lap. “It’s, um, serious, and the doctors don’t give any guarantees. Even if I—even if it goes well, I’ll be incapacitated for a while. Brooke needs her daddy.”

Barb scanned Meredith’s face but didn’t ask for details. “What if he’s guilty?”

“Find him first. Then help me prove he’s innocent.”

Barb was firm. “You know we can’t guarantee that. He could face life in prison.”

“Ms. Evans, Neil didn’t kill his wife. Even if—” She hurried on, seeing Barb’s face. “Even if he’d accidentally killed her, he wouldn’t murder Carson to cover it up, like they say.”

Barb didn’t argue. “We’ll look into this, but we won’t waste your money. If it doesn’t look like we can locate your brother, we’ll charge you only for expenses incurred.”

“I hope you can find him.” With an embarrassed flush, Meredith pulled an envelope from her purse. “I never shared this with the police.”

She handed Barb a newspaper cutting of about two by two inches. After a quick scan, Barb handed it to me. “Buck Lake Resort?”

“I didn’t really hold out on the police,” Meredith defended herself. “I found that a long time afterward.”

“Why do you think this is significant?” I asked.

“It was in a book I loaned Neil shortly before Carina was killed. He’s a big-time hunter, and he’d been looking at rentals in the U.P.” Meredith looked from me to Barb. “Wouldn’t a remote place like that come to mind when he needed somewhere to hide?”

“The whole Upper Peninsula. is remote.” My sister sees Allport as the absolute end of the civilized world. She won’t camp, refuses to hike, and sees no difference between the tree outside her bedroom window and the gazillion trees on the north side of the Mackinac Bridge.

“Was your brother familiar with the U.P.?” I asked.

“Not really, but he wanted to try hunting up there.”

“And the police didn’t know about this?”

“Just me. Neil asked if I thought Carina would be okay with him being gone for a week.” She smiled. “I told him he should forget it, especially with a baby on the way.”

“So it’s a place no one knew to look for him.”

Barb cut in, her tone businesslike. “Miss Brown, you need to understand we can’t guarantee results. If you need someone to care for the child, you should talk to other relatives.”

“The only other relative Brooke has left is Stan Wozniak, and he has nothing to do with her.” Meredith twisted her purse strap. “I’ve been thinking of people who might help out.”

My eyes got kind of prickly, and I had to look down at my notes for a minute. A nice girl like her, who’d gone through so much, shouldn’t have to face health trouble, too. It wouldn’t be a big inconvenience for me to take the child for a few weeks. And Dale would—

I looked up to see my sister sending a firm “No” with her eyes. She was right. We had to be professional. Still, I could call some people at church. They’d help her find care for the girl.

Barb returned her attention to Meredith. “What sort of man is Wozniak?”

Meredith passed a hand over her mouth as if to stop her first response. “I shouldn’t speak badly of the man, but he was so sure Neil killed Carina that he went a little crazy. He hired detectives to find him. He said terrible things about my brother to the police and the media.”

“You understand he’ll probably do his best to have your brother arrested if we locate him,” Barb said. “Nothing we can do will prevent that.”

“I understand.” Meredith picked up her purse and set the strap on her shoulder. “All I can hope for is that Neil has some way to prove he isn’t a killer.”

If he’d had that kind of proof, Neil Brown wouldn’t have fled. Barb’s glance told me she was thinking the same thing. It was probable this case wasn’t going to go in the direction Meredith Brown wanted it to.

When our client had gone, we laid out a course of action. I volunteered to visit Tom Stevens, Allport’s acting chief of police, and get his take on the Wozniak murders. Tom’s been on the job for years, and I knew him from high school. His superior had died suddenly, and the city was in the process of finding a replacement. Apparently it wouldn’t be Tom.

Barb pulled out her phone. “I’ll call this Buck Whatever place.”

When I have to tell Barb something she doesn’t want to hear, I’ve learned to tread carefully. One wrong move, and she’ll refuse to listen to further argument. “We could drive up there, talk to the owner, and be back in a couple of days.”

The idea of going to the U.P. made her brows pull together. “Why? We send them a photo; they tell us whether they remember seeing Brown or not.”

“Think about it, Barb. Neil knew he was the subject of a police search. The first thing he’d do is alter his appearance: his hair color, his clothes, maybe even theatrical makeup. He’d start a beard, which isn’t unusual for hunters and changes the shape of the face.”

“A picture isn’t enough.” It was a reluctant admission.

“Unfortunately, time is not on our side.”

“Right. Who knows if they’ll remember a guy who rented a cabin years ago and probably kept a very low profile.”

“But it’s a clue the police didn’t have.”

She slid open her desk drawer and began rummaging. “I don’t blame Meredith for not ratting on her brother, but the police need to know where he went.”

I wasn’t happy with betraying Meredith’s confidence. “When we know he’s up there.”

Barb retrieved the object she’d been hunting, a Michigan map. “I guess you’re right. We’ll check out the Outer Boondocks ourselves.”

“I’d sure like to hear Neil’s side of the story.”

Barb shut the desk drawer with a thump. “Faye, if this guy has avoided the police for this long, he’s clever. And if he did what the police think he did, he’s dangerous.”

“I get that. But he probably missed the media coverage. If we tell him his daughter’s alive, he might come forward and explain what really happened.”

Barb lowered her eyes, and I sensed how naïve my argument sounded to an experienced attorney’s ears. Neil Brown’s innocence wasn’t likely. I had to face that.

“Our job is to find him,” she said. “Then he can tell his story to anyone who’ll listen.”

“Do you think the police will give him a chance?”

She shrugged. “You know Tom Stevens better than I do.”

“Tom isn’t the most original thinker I ever met.” Saving the file M.Brown, I turned my iPad off. “Wozniak was a big factor, and the local police pretty much did what he told them to.”

“Money talks, huh?”

“Well, that and the fact he actually saw Neil leaving the apartment. He didn’t think anything of it until he went in and found his son dead and his daughter dying.”

“So public sympathy was for the Wozniaks?”

I waved a hand. “You know how it is. The media focuses on the people who make good sound bites. Some people I talked to said privately that Carina wasn’t the poor, abused wife her father insisted she was, and lots of people said Carson was shiftless and spoiled, but Neil’s DNA was under Carina’s fingernails, he left her dying, and their marital problems were well known.”

“I see.” Barb’s tone hinted at regret for having taken the case. I, too, hated the thought we might have to tell Meredith, dealing with a deadly disease, a young child, and a family scandal, that her brother was what the rest of the world thought him: a double murderer.

In my high-mileage Volvo, I rattled my way to City Hall the next morning to see Tom Stevens. Our acting police chief graduated from Allport High School a year after me, and as I followed him into his office, I took note of the trophies and photos from those days when he was a basketball star. Judging from his hula-hoop waistline, he didn’t play much ball these days.

Tom was a good small-town policeman. He worked hard to keep the public safe and contented, supported every humanitarian organization in the area, and had a fatherly approach to law enforcement well-suited to the many juveniles he dealt with. Most Allport crimes required a ride home, a conference with Mom and Dad, and a stern reprimand.

The Wozniak murders were the biggest case Allport ever had, and the only unsolved murder. We had instances of violent death, of course, but the killer usually called 9-1-1, tearfully confessing to the crime and desperate to tell what happened. Even the ones who didn’t confess weren’t much of a challenge. They were usually found cowering in their parent’s garage or in a cousin’s house in the next county. Before Neil Brown, not many felons had eluded capture for more than a week.

I’d have bet Tom and K, the old police chief, began work on the Wozniak case thinking it was a golden opportunity to look good. As the trail grew colder, they must have become frustrated. Local police agencies have neither the time nor the resources to track a clever criminal. Of course, the Michigan State Police contributed significant expertise, but no trace of Neil was ever found. Many believed he’d escaped to Canada on the VIA Rail, though there was no record of him boarding a train.

“Probably used an alias and changed his appearance,” Tom told me once I’d introduced the reason for my visit. He rocked back in his padded plastic chair, not a flattering position, since his belly rose like a blue moon over the desktop. “Nobody expected a guy like Neil to fool every lawman in Michigan, but he did, and you can throw in the OPPies and the Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana State Police, too.”

He watched my face to see if I understood the reference to the Ontario Provincial Police, and I did, having once observed Barb in a spirited discussion with a member of that organization over her possession of a radar detector. She’d contended since it was unplugged he couldn’t confiscate it. My sister the lawyer lost that roadside case.

I offered a plate of fresh oatmeal cookies. No harm in minor bribery, and a few more couldn’t make much difference to Tom’s waistline. “Why were you so sure he went south?”

Tom took a cookie, bit off half of it, and talked around the mouthful. “Found his truck in Port Huron, near the train station. After that he just disappeared.” Tom sounded half-admiring, half-rueful. The fact that Brown had eluded all cops, not just those in Allport, Michigan, had probably made losing the prime suspect of their biggest felony case a little more palatable.

I’d made a list of questions, and Tom and I covered all of them. Neil had no prior record, his friends and family had been questioned and re-questioned about possible hideouts, and none of them appeared to be holding anything back.

“Mostly what we got was shock.” Leaning forward, Tom clasped beefy hands on the desktop. “No one wants to think somebody they like is capable of murder. His people said Neil wouldn’t hurt anyone. The sister especially.” He paused. “She the one that hired you?”

“I can’t say.” Even a novice crime fighter knows clients’ names shouldn’t be revealed.

His round face showed amusement. “You don’t have to. Meredith Brown had a big case of hero-worship for her brother, which means you can’t take her word for anything.” He took on a manner that no doubt worked well on teenagers caught with a trunk full of beer. “I’m helping you out, here, Faye. You’re wasting your time and her money.”

Not being a juvenile delinquent, I wasn’t required to sit through the whole lecture. “It’s up to us how we spend our time and up to the client how she spends her money.” I rose and gathered my things. “Thanks, Tom. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“You do that.” Taking a second cookie, he leaned back in the chair again, signaling he wouldn’t hold his breath until we broke the case.

As I left, I pictured Tom telling his coworkers about the two women on Bentley Street who were playing detective. I could even imagine the chuckles that followed.