Dead Renegade (13 page)

Erin was waiting when they walked into the building. She was dressed in a black pantsuit and holding a briefcase in one hand. Osborne recognized the look in her eyes: grim determination. Could she have found the boy who frightened Mason?

“Erin, you look ready to send someone to the state pen,” said Osborne, half joking.

“This isn’t about Mason, Dad—but some disturbing news about C.J.’s husband.”

“Oh,” said Osborne, “if you’re referring to the incident on the boat yesterday, I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up but we had enough going on. Wouldn’t you say it’s really a personal issue for the couple?”

As they walked down the hallway to Lew’s office, Erin said, “When Mason told me about Calverson being so nasty to his wife, I thought it might be wise for me to take action on something involving Curt Calverson that I’ve been working on for the last two weeks. It’s not about his relationship with his wife, Dad. It’s even more serious.”

“Come in, come in,” said Lew as they entered her office. “Let’s sit over there.” She pointed to the seating area under the windows facing the courthouse lawn where a sofa, two chairs, and a coffee table made it easy to talk. A light breeze carried the scent of mock orange in bloom. Erin opened her briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers and what appeared to be direct mail brochures.

“Chief Ferris, you know I’ve decided to do Legal Aid work until Cody is in first grade because they let me set my own hours?”

Lew nodded, so Erin went on. “Well, I was approached several weeks ago by an elderly woman from Tomahawk, Dolores Rotier. She was convinced someone had stolen money from her bank account because she couldn’t use her ATM card to make a withdrawal. That wasn’t the problem, really. Dolores didn’t understand there was a limit to what she could withdraw in a day but even so, the amount she was allowed to withdraw was so small that I thought the situation was worth looking into.

“I learned that for the last eighteen months, she has been paying on loans from Calverson Finance.”

“As in
Curt
Calverson?” asked Osborne.

“Right, Dad, it’s a finance company run by C.J.’s husband. Dolores told me she is one of several elderly residents she knows who got a brochure like this in the mail last year.” C.J. waved one of the brochures. “She called the number in the ad and was told that Calverson Finance would give her a good deal on a loan if she agreed to have her $550 monthly government aid check deposited directly into a new account with them.

“So she did. She agreed to the direct deposit and then applied for a loan of $204.84 for a couch. The whole set-up sounded fishy to me and Dolores is certainly no financial wizard, which is why I decided to investigate further. That’s when I discovered that the finance company also charged her $75.00 for death and dismemberment insurance and an additional $10.00 insurance fee. Add interest charges to that and it seems she now owed Calverson Finance $360.00, which she had agreed to pay in monthly installments of $72.00.

“That’s not all. Six months ago, she gets another loan of $167.00 because she had surgery and extra bills. This time Calverson Finance adds a car-club membership for $90.00. But Dolores doesn’t own a car, she can’t drive and she never knew she was buying the membership. Also, she is never told that there is an additional monthly fee of $4.99 just for the direct deposit.

“When she came to me, she thought she had two small loan payments. That’s why she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t withdraw some of her government aid money—enough for groceries—with the ATM card the bank sent her.

“Chief Ferris, Dad, this is not about two small loan payments—Dolores Rotier is in her late eighties and she now owes nearly all the money she receives monthly to Calverson Finance. When I add up their fees and interest, this poor elderly lady is paying an effective annual percentage rate of around 94 percent! Is this a scam or what?”

It was a rhetorical question; Erin wasn’t finished. “We checked with Legal Aid in a couple more towns around here—Rhinelander, Eagle River, Woodruff—and found nine more elderly people in the same fix. Turns out Calverson sent fliers to all the old folks getting government benefits, encouraging the direct deposit of their monthly checks and touting the wonderful loans they could get.”

“Erin,” said Lew, “there is nothing the Loon Lake Police can do about this. Bank fraud is a federal crime—not under our jurisdiction. You need the F.B.I. But I must warn you that if the small print on the documents you have there—”

“I know, I know. I’m working with some of my colleagues at Legal Aid who know more about financial issues to draw up a formal complaint, but that takes time. Meanwhile people like Dolores are at the mercy of this man.”

“Can she close her account?”

“Not until she pays what she owes—but I am working on canceling her direct deposit. Chief Ferris, the guy’s a creep. Even if you can’t do anything, I feel you should know what he’s up to. I mean, hey, you keep track of the drug dealers, may as well keep track of this guy, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. We do need to know this is happening. But, again, it’s the FBI who really needs to know.”

“Any Loon Lake residents doing business with this firm?” asked Osborne.

“That’s why I’m here, Dad. Old Mr. Gilley and Mrs. Schradtke. Mr. Gilley’s too embarrassed to file a complaint and Mrs. Schradtke’s short term memory problems are making it very difficult to help her. Her neighbor is the one who called us.”

“Wait.
Are we talking about Bobby Schradtke’s mother?” Lew asked.

“Yes,” said Erin, getting to her feet and slipping the papers back into her briefcase.

“Keep me informed on this, will you please?” asked Lew.

“Sure. Thanks for listening,” said Erin.

After she left the office, Osborne turned to Lew. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Interesting and frustrating. I sure wish there was more that this department could do for those older folks …” Lew shrugged, “but, like I said, the Feds are in charge when it comes to bank fraud.

“Meanwhile, I
can
do something about Abe Conjurski now that you and Bruce have ID’d his remains. Let’s go downstairs and look for the files from the year he disappeared. Twelve years ago? Let’s hope they aren’t in one of those boxes that Pecore had to take down to Madison.”

CHAPTER
18

O
n entering the basement storeroom with its narrow aisles of wooden shelving reaching up to the ceiling, Osborne and Lew each chose an aisle, scanning along the shelves for the cardboard file box that should hold case files for the year that Abe Conjurski had disappeared.

“I wasn’t on the force then,” said Lew, “but I’m sure we’ll find at least a missing person report. Too bad these haven’t been scanned into the system, but maybe one of these days …” She walked slowly, checking the dates scribbled in black marker onto the fronts of the long boxes.

“Hey, this might be it,” she said, pulling at one. “Doc, would you give me a hand please? This box must weigh over fifty pounds. Should be a list in the front that indicates all the cases stored inside.”

“By date or alphabetical?”

“Both, I believe. I haven’t had a reason to look in these since the city council decided to save money and space by having the department transfer inactive case files from the old metal file cabinets to these. I’ll tell you, Doc, all this does is remind me we need a new building, new computers, and more staff—but that’s not likely to happen.”

Tugging together, they hoisted the long, heavy box from the shelf and were easing it onto the floor when Lew’s cell phone rang.

“Yes, Marlene, what is it?” she said on seeing that the call was from the switchboard upstairs. “Right. Where? Let the EMTs know I’m on my way.” She clipped the phone back on her belt and turned to Osborne. “911 dispatcher just called. We’ve got a rollover north of town. Victim called from the vehicle. Dispatcher thinks someone may be pinned inside.

“With Todd off today and Roger working a break-in at the Dog House Tavern—afraid it’s up to me, Doc. We’ll have to do this later.” She was out the door and running up the stairs as she spoke.

“Need help?” Osborne asked, hurrying behind her.

“Wouldn’t hurt, especially if we beat the EMTs to the site.”

As the cruiser sped in the direction given by the 911 dispatcher, Osborne spotted familiar road signs: they were headed towards Big Moccasin Lake. Sure enough, they turned off the county highway onto a gravel road and, two fire numbers later, started down the long driveway that led to a house he had visited less than twenty-four hours earlier.

“Y’know,” he said, “I’m pretty sure we’re on our way to the Calverson’s.” No sooner had he spoken than they rounded a sharp curve and Osborne shouted, “Watch out!”

Lew hit the brakes and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right to avoid rear-ending a Toyota Land Cruiser parked upside down at an angle across the narrow, heavily wooded lane. The way the car had flipped but missed the wall of Norway pines lining the drive was amazing to Osborne. “Wow, are they lucky,” he said.

“You mean—are
we
lucky,” muttered Lew.

The front door on the passenger side hung wide open but all they could see was the backside of a woman on her knees, her torso deep inside the car. “She could be pinned,” said Lew. “Let’s hope she’s not hurt bad.”

“That has to be CJ. in the car. I see Curt Calverson over there,” said Osborne, pointing to a man on the far side of the overturned vehicle who was marching back and forth, his eyes on them as he waved one arm while shouting into his cell phone.

“Your wife—is she hurt?” cried Lew, leaping from the police cruiser.

“My goddamn car is totaled,” said Curt, slamming his phone shut and spitting out the words. Osborne couldn’t tell if the man’s face was red with anger or if he had survived a face plant on the windshield.

“That’s not what I asked,” said Lew. “Is your wife—”

“I’m shook up, but nothing serious,” said the woman from inside the car as she backed her way out and got to her feet. It was C.J. “I was just looking for my purse. I know I’m okay and Curt seems … well, upset but—”

“Okay, hold on both of you,” said Lew. “The EMTs are on their way. They’ll make sure you don’t need medical assistance. She reached for her cell phone to place a quick call to Marlene to request a tow truck. She looked over at the Calversons, who were still standing on opposite sides of their overturned car. “Who was driving?”

“Me, but that’s not the point here,” said Curt. “Someone tried to kill me. This was attempted murder, and I sure as hell expect you people to get off your butts and do something—”

“Whoa, bud, calm down,” said Lew. “Looks to me like you rolled your car taking that curve too fast. Your wheels hit gravel and …”

As Lew spoke, C.J. raised both arms, waving her hands to beckon them towards the front of the large SUV. “Chief Ferris,” said Osborne, pointing at C.J. as he jogged around the front of the vehicle, “this is Mrs. Calverson—C.J. She’s the woman who helped Mason yesterday.”

He rounded the front of the vehicle only to stop so fast that he and Lew nearly collided. They stared down in stunned silence. A deer, a large dead deer—a buck with its antlers covered in velvet—lay on the road in front of the SUV. The rear flanks of the dead animal were pinned under the vehicle and not visible. “Whoa, that’s one heck of a road kill,” said Osborne.

“I hit the brakes hard as I could but my front bumper caught it—that’s when we flipped,” said Curt. “That damn thing was right smack in the middle of the road as we came around the curve. I’m damn lucky to be alive. If we hadn’t rolled, we’d have hit those trees at forty miles an hour!”

“You are very lucky, indeed,” said Lew, her voice quiet and eyes thoughtful as she took in the car, the distance it had rolled and the position of the dead deer.

“Tell me something, Curt,” said Osborne, his own close calls in mind, “was the deer traveling as you came around the curve? Do you recall if
you
hit the deer—or did the deer hit you?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? The goddamn deer wasn’t moving,” said Curt, arms up and hands flailing as he stomped back and forth along one side of the SUV.

Hmm, thought Osborne. He caught Lew’s eye and knew they were both thinking the same thing: if this imitation of Rumpelstiltskin continued much longer, the EMTs might have their hands full after all.

“What I am trying to tell you is that dead deer was already there—lying right in the middle of the goddamn road when we came around the bend.
Some asshole put it there.”

“Mr. Calverson. Please stop your shouting,” said Lew, her tone gracious. “I am standing right here and I can hear you just fine.”

“Listen,” Curt choked twice before he could speak, “my wife and I drove out of here less than two hours ago and there was no dead animal in the road at that time. You think I’m making this up? Where is the State Patrol? I want a serious investigation—not some local yahoos.”

“Thank you,” said Lew, continuing to keep her voice remarkably even—at least in Osborne’s opinion. By now he would’ve punched the guy. And if the idiot kept it up that might still be an option.