Adoption Read online

  “Okay, as long as you will be alright.”

  Michael thanked us as I turned to walk away. Andy spoke with Michael about his personal belongings and Michael was gone in just a few minute, bag in hand.

  “What a way to remember someone you love: bleeding out, naked, and contorted on the bathroom floor, a hole in the front and back of his head and nothing in the world you can do to help.” I thought as I walked into the kitchen, the paper bag in the sink catching my attention as it moved about, a claw breaking free of its paper prison.

  42

  Not having spent much time with Peggy over the last three days, we decided to meet at Calabria’s, a local Italian restaurant serving the best Chicken Marsala in central Massachusetts. Chicken Marsala is one of Peggy’s favorite meals. She orders it nine times out of ten along with her traditional glass of Chardonnay. I am a Chicken Parmesan connoisseur and was looking forward to sitting with Peggy, eating a hot meal, and talking about the last few days.

  When we go to Calabria’s for dinner, we go to visit our friend Giuseppe, (Joey), the owner of the restaurant. Joey usually works the bar when we are there and tonight was no exception. We began talking with him as he mixed Peggy’s Southern Comfort Manhattan – not quite a glass of Chardonnay, but none-the-less refreshing - and my Captain and coke, catching up on his latest news and adventures. Joey was born with a natural ability to make people feel at home and relaxed. Peggy and I felt like family the first night we met him when the restaurant first opened. Calabria’s became our home away from home.

  Driving to Calabria’s I called Milford Hospital to check on Doc’s condition. One of the ER physicians who worked on Doc told me he was now resting in the intensive care unit. They had talked about life-flighting Doc to Mass General in Boston, but one of the bullets grazed the aorta next to the heart and they wanted to minimize his movement to prevent a rupture. The doctor said Doc’s chances of survival at this stage were thirty to seventy percent. I did not like hearing those odds, but Doc was alive and still fighting. The doctor continued telling me that either bullet could have punctured and destroyed Doc’s heart. Both bullets were that close. One quarter of an inch and we would not be having this conversation about Doc’s survival. We would be discussing his funeral.

  Peggy was already sitting at the bar when I walked into the restaurant. Joey was just setting my first Captain and Coke on the napkin as I pulled the stool into position.

  “Joey, tonight I appreciate this drink more than you know,” I said settling into a comfortable position. “Honey, how was YOUR day?” I asked raising my glass to take my first sip.

  “Hi, baby.” Peggy said, reading the specials on the menu.

  I already knew she would order the Chicken Marsala and chuckled to myself as I asked the question. “What are you going to order?”

  “I don’t know yet. I was thinking about the sixteen ounce Rib-Eye with the blue cheese sprinkles. You know me though I’ll look for twenty minutes and end up ordering the Chicken Marsala!”

  We said Chicken Marsala simultaneously as I mimicked her. After her initial “you’re an ass” response, she smiled and blew me a kiss. This verbal exchange hardly ever varied. I would ask; Peggy would reply that I was an ass and then we would eat. I was no longer surprised at how predictable we had become.

  “What about you?” Peggy asked. “What are you going to have?”

  “I’m going for the Chicken Parm,” I said, thinking again of my predictability.

  Joey looked over at us to see if we were ready to order. I shook my head left to right signaling we needed a few more minutes. He shook his head up and down in return acknowledging my message. Some people know how to communicate without talking. Joey knew us and we had an unspoken code used to talk with one another while waiting for Peggy to make up her mind.

  “What’s happening with the Meadow Pond case,” Peggy asked.

  Not having seen Peggy at all today, she was not aware of Jerry Bickford’s murder or the attempted murder of Doc Cavanaugh.

  “Doc Cavanaugh was shot in the chest this afternoon and…”

  “What!” Peggy responded in a high, surprised tone, everyone in the restaurant and bar turning their heads in our direction. “What do you mean? What the hell happened?” she asked completely taken off guard.

  “Someone went into his office this afternoon and put two bullets into his chest. We don’t know who it was, but Doc is in the ICU over in Milford fighting for his life. The surgeon gives him a thirty percent chance of survival.”

  “Oh, my freakin word!” She said, “Poor Doc.”

  “That’s not the end of it. Jerry Bickford was shot and killed this afternoon in his condo around the same time that Doc was attacked. Michael found him in their bathroom when he got home early from work.”

  “What the…why would anyone want to hurt either one of them? Poor, Jerry.” Peggy said.

  Joey, overhearing my conversation with Peggy interjected. “Chief, I know Jerry and Michael very well. They come into the restaurant often. I can’t believe it. Jerry was a great guy. Do you have any idea who is behind the attacks? How is Michael doing? I know he and Jerry were extremely close.”

  “We don’t have any concrete evidence linking the two shootings yet. We have to wait until the ballistic tests come back to see if the bullets match up. If they do, then we know both Jerry and Doc were shot with the same gun. Until then, all we can do is assume, and I don’t like assumptions. Michael is going up to Gloucester to stay with his sister for a while. He’s doing as well as anyone could, having just lost his partner in such a violent way.”

  There was a silent pause between the three of us. Finally, I said, “Joey, I’d like the Chicken Parm and a mixed salad with ranch dressing.”

  Peggy, taking my cue, ordered her Chicken Marsala. Joey reached over the bar as a waitress was passing holding her tray up in the air, and grabbed a basket with hot bread, placing it in front of us, as we mixed our own dish of olive oil, grated cheese and spices.

  “So, what’s new in your neck of the woods?” I asked Peggy, trying to change the mood.

  “Not too much. School is the same. The kids are a riot, and that little Jeremy makes me pee my pants laughing all day long. He is just so damned cute. I could hug him to death. I’m going over to Libby’s after we’re done eating. She has some new clothes for the baby she wants me to see. I thought maybe I would take her and the baby out for some ice cream while Eugy is at work.”

  “Great idea,” I replied. “It’s Lib’s birthday pretty soon isn’t it?” I asked, as my plate of Chicken Parm and salad were placed in front of my hungry eyes and grateful nose.

  “It’s next week. We’re going over to “Soft Touch” so she can get an hour-long massage. It only costs sixty-five dollars and it’s a nice gift for her birthday.”

  “Sounds great, tell her to move over ’cause I’ll need one of those rub-a-dub-dubs by this time next week.”

  “Rub-a-dub-dubs? You’re such a twit!” Peggy said smiling, taking her first bite of Chicken Marsala, accompanied by her usual, musically-toned, hum of contentment.

  43

  Christopher stood at the top of the cellar stairway after leaving Marty sitting on her bed completely freed of her restraints. He slowly walked over to the monitor in the computer room watching her for a few minutes before taking a shower. After all, he had been very busy today and earned a much needed rest. Removing the two human roadblocks this afternoon had left him feeling a bit tired and achy.

  The nagging question repeating itself in his mind as he watched Marty standing in front of the dresser raising her newly freed arms to study them in the mirror: “Is she for real?” Followed by, “Do not lose control my friend!”

  The hot, soapy lather felt soothing as he stood in the water’s stream enjoying the peace and quiet. The spraying water, being the only sound in the bathroom, helped him focus his thou
ghts as he planned his retribution against Chief Kosciak. Deciding the chief and his wife Peggy, as well as their daughter Libby would all be punished, he knew whatever plan he developed would not be received well by the Kosciak family. Although his plan was only in its infancy, he relished the idea of killing all three, one at a time, while Kosciak watched. Libby wold be first. Peggy second. Then, the chief, his heart ripped to pieces, helplessly looking at his dead family lying on the floor, the recipient of final justice.

  Finishing his shower, Christopher changed into casual slacks and a pullover T-shirt. Grabbing a diet coke out of the fridge, he sat down studying the eyes, lips and ears collected from each of his adopted children. Remembering each one of the girls, their individualities, the time spent with each here at home, and the closeness he felt for every one of them, helped him to relax and reminisce. Collectively, the girls reacted much the same during their adoption processes, and that was why they were taught that: in this home there was no evil to see, no evil to hear, no evil to speak. Their screams and resistance showed how tenaciously and deeply rooted the evil was that clung to their souls as he proceeded with their ritual of adoption. He taught each of them that here, with him, they would be safe from being cast away by loved ones, or even worse, from being humiliated and abused like he was. At least here, with him, they would be taken care of and remembered. His love for them was unquestioning and unconditional. Once the adoption process was completed by each of the children, they were enshrined and appreciated daily by their adoptive father.

  Christopher held family meetings with the children on a regular basis. Most often he discussed the next child he was considering for adoption and asked their opinions and thoughts. Today though, Christopher wanted to talk to them about something quite different.

  “Time for a family meeting kids.” he said addressing the glass jars sitting on the table top. “As you all know, I have begun the adoption of another daughter whom I want to become part of our family. But, I’m having some difficulty and reservations about her sincerity and honesty. I think she really does want to be my daughter. She seems very open and receptive to everything I’ve told her. She knows about each of you, and I’m sure she will be glad to finally meet all of you when I decide it’s time to bring her upstairs. But, she seems too good to be true. What do you think? Should I trust her, or should I consummate her adoption the same way I consummated each of yours?”

  Standing next to the table, looking into the jars, Christopher began to move his head and hands like he was listening to someone respond to what he had just said.

  “Yes. You are correct. Hmmm…I could do that I suppose. Do you really think that? I don’t know if she would agree, but I could ask her. So, you are all in agreement? Marty could be the “big sister” we have all been waiting for? Angie, I can always count on you to be the odd person out in these conversations. Yes, I know – control, control and control. You have an iron-clad memory, my dear. Children, I will have to give this some more thought. Thanks for listening to me ramble on. I will give this conversation more time to mature before making up my mind. Do you children want to meet Marty?” He smiled at their answer, turned away, took a few steps, and turning back toward his children, said “I love you all very, very much.”

  44

  After finishing our dinner, I left Peggy at the bar talking with Joey about his latest weekend spent in the town of Harwich, located on Cape Cod. Driving over to Auburn to meet with Ken Garber, I thought about Doc lying in his hospital bed with IV’s, drainage tubes, monitor leads and electrodes hooked up to and running out of every part his body. Doc’s wife passed away a few years ago, and his only child, a daughter living in California, was on her way home to be with him at the hospital. Maybe subconsciously the sound of her voice would help Doc rally from the semi-comatose state that the attack had left him in. So far, Doc survived the initial attack and subsequent surgery, and I prayed upon arriving at the State Police facility, that he would be strong enough to survive the night…and beyond.

  Ken was waiting for me in the control room where pictures and information about each of the murdered girls hung tacked to the portable cork-boards set up against two of the room’s walls. The posted information gave the boards a crossword puzzle like appearance, with information written or drawn on multi-colored squares of paper, all being worked on simultaneously. Photos and information about family and friends, boyfriends, athletic coaches, college professors, employers, social history, likes and dislikes and police records covered most of the space on both boards. The Staties were doing a great job re-creating the lives of each of these victims. Standing in front of the boards reviewing the information, I noticed Ken’s people circled in red any information considered to be a priority worth investigating. Even though I knew Ken’s staff was sure to be thorough, I still took the time to review the information that was not marked in red as well.

  “Ken. There doesn’t seem to be any area in these girl’s lives indicating they might have known one another or even crossed paths. A couple of the schools the girls attended do have athletic programs which overlap and their teams do compete, but the girls did not play on any of the teams that actually competed against one another. Right now, the information is telling me our killer picked all of these girls at random. There are no connections between any of them. All this information and not one lead to follow,” I said out loud turning to look at him.

  “Yeah, Ron. I know what you mean. This is like looking for the proverbial “needle in the haystack.” Only problem is we have six haystacks to look through at the same time. That’s a lot of hay, my friend. By the way. How’s doc doing? I heard about what happened to him this afternoon.”

  “He’s in the ICU. He’s one tough son-of-a-bitch, I’ll give him that much. Have you been able to determine how many white vans are registered in this area? I know we sent the request out to the DMV only a few hours ago, but I was hoping you might have some feedback by now. I’d like to start running down each owner - no pun intended - and see if we can find one registered to our guy.”

  “Not too much on that yet. Not enough time at the end of the day for the registry to process the request. But, we do have the first composite sketch that Molly Harrington, from Arts and Things, gave us this afternoon. The artist is still up in Worcester working with the store owner on the second sketch.”

  “Super. Can I take a look at the first one?”

  Ken walked over to the table set up next to one of the cork boards, picking up a piece of paper containing my first glimpse of our potential killer. My blood was pumping fast as I anticipated what this guy was going to look like. As Ken handed me the sketch, I focused on the facial features hoping there would be some sort of immediate recognition. There wasn’t any. Although there was a familiarity, I did not recognize this man’s face. The familiarity bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  The man looked to be in his mid to late thirties, Caucasian with no distinguishing marks or scars on his face. His hair was neatly cut, and he didn’t wear any beard or mustache. Although his eyes were dark and piercing, in a crowd he would disappear without much notice. Sort of a regular guy. I was disappointed as I continued to evaluate the sketch with no recognition bulb going off in my head. And yet, there WAS something familiar about him.

  “I don’t know, Ken,” I said handing the sketch back to him. “There is something, but there isn’t anything I can run with.”

  “I know” said Ken. “I felt the same thing. In fact, a couple of my officers felt the same when they first looked at the sketch. This guy has one of those familiar faces. It drives me nuts, but it is what it is. I’ll fax the second sketch over to you as soon as it’s completed.”

  “Thanks, Ken,” I said, turning back to the boards, to continue reviewing the information.

  “You heard about Jerry Bickford, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we received that call soon after it happened. We heard abo
ut Doc right after that. Are you thinking the two shootings are related?”

  “We are definitely on the same page here, Ken.”

  I told Ken my revelation about the three monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil. My theory struck him the same way. Could something so simple be the key to opening up this investigation? Could a killer who was so meticulous in every move he made up to this point, make such a simple mistake?

  I spent the next hour studying the information on the two boards. My eyes were about ready to fall out of my head from concentrating so hard. At this point we would have to wait until the second sketch arrived and we received the information on the white van from the DMV. Three monkeys and one sketch was all the information we had right now. I still felt stuck in the mud as I stood looking at the pictures of five, beautiful, young girls whose lives ended way too prematurely, and a sixth, I was still hoping we could save before it was too late.

  45

  After talking with his children, Christopher sat quietly at his desk watching Marty on the monitor. Wearing the earphones for the CD player, she listened to the music and seemed content lying on the bed tapping her foot to the rhythm of the CD’s current song. She did not look up at the monitor, but instead, seemed to relax and accept her present situation. Everything she said and did substantiated her apparent desire to be accepted as part of his family. Even the children, with the exception of Angie, told him they wanted to meet Marty and see for themselves just what kind of big sister she would make. They would be able to tell in an instant if Marty were faking and playing all of them. After all, each had been in her shoes and knew what the adoption process was all about. Christopher sat pondering his next move. Should he bring her up and introduce her to the family, or should he continue to proceed with the adoption process the way he normally had proceeded in the past?