Buried in Wolf Lake Page 16

  “She seems surprisingly normal. Aside from leaving her children, that is.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “You think she’ll seek custody of Rebecca?” I wondered.

  “Who knows? She wanted to hear all about her. But she’s what, sixty-six? According to her DL, anyway.”

  “Which is taken from a fake birth certificate,” I reminded him.

  “Ah, yes, the tangled web. She walked away from her own kids forty years ago. Would she want to pick up with a great-granddaughter at her age? I don’t know.”

  “I don’t either. That’s up to social services and the courts, I guess.”

  I didn’t believe Elaine Van House could be the stable, loving parent Rebecca needed to carry her though to adulthood and beyond.

  30

  Alvie Eisner’s trial lasted a mere five days and ended on a Tuesday. The briefings, poring over records, listening to testimonies, giving testimony, studying the jury, watching the judge, and stealing glimpses of the defendant came to a sudden end.

  Ray Collinwood rose and smoothed his tie over his ample belly. “Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”

  “Is the defense ready to proceed?”

  Ronald Campion stood up, his spine as straight as a planed board. “The defense rests, Your Honor.”

  The courtroom exploded with a hundred people speaking at once. I was too flabbergasted to do more than think, What.

  Smoke was on my left side. He leaned over, squeezed my hand to get my attention, and whispered, “What the hell? She hired a high-buck attorney for this? To not present a case? To not play the old battered-syndrome card, at least?”

  Before I could comment, the judge pounded his gavel and the bailiffs raised their arms, demanding silence. “I will have order in my court or I will clear the room!”

  Order was regained in less than a minute.

  “Mister Collinwood and Mister Campion, approach the bench.” The judge spoke to the attorneys at a volume lower than the quiet din of the spectators. I glanced around the room, looking for Ms. Van House, and saw her sitting a few rows back, across the aisle.

  When the attorneys returned to their tables, they turned to face the bench and continued to stand.

  “Are the prosecution and defense prepared for closing statements?” Judge Feiner asked.

  “We are, Your Honor.” Collinwood nodded.

  “Yes Your Honor.” Ronald Campion was stiff, tense.

  “Good. We’ll take a fifteen-minute recess.” He tapped his gavel, and we all rose with the bailiff’s instruction.

  Ray Collinwood rambled on for nearly thirty minutes, describing Eisner’s actions, the testimonies, and the evidence supporting them. If I was a member of the jury, after listening to him, I would have no trouble casting my “guilty” vote.

  Ronald Campion said little. “Members of the jury, you have heard the testimonies, received the evidence. Deliberate, come to a decision. We will respect that decision.”

  That was it.

  I wasn’t certain whether Eisner would have been able to testify in her own defense. Given her schizoid personality disorder, it would have been difficult for her to be questioned and to give testimony—more so for her than for the majority of the population. But, like Smoke, I had thought Campion would pursue the battered woman syndrome. Alvie and her brother had been sexually abused for years. It didn’t make her less guilty of the crimes, but with the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder the psychologist had diagnosed, it might prompt the judge to allow some leniency in her sentence. For example, being sent to a prison where she would be less likely to be harassed by other prisoners.

  The jury deliberated for forty minutes. They filed back in, followed by the judge minutes later.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Judge Feiner asked.

  The head juror, an older man of perhaps seventy, stood up slowly. “We have, Your Honor.” He held up a piece of paper.

  The bailiff retrieved it and handed it to the judge. After Judge Feiner studied the sheet for a moment, he instructed, “Read your findings to this court.”

  The jury had found Alvie Eisner guilty of all crimes, except the manslaughter charge. Apparently, the twelve men and women of the jury believed Eisner’s uncle had gotten what he deserved. On a personal level, I didn’t disagree.

  Eisner and her attorney, Campion, looked like two wooden statues set side by side, listening as each charge was presented for the jury’s finding.

  “Ms. Eisner, you will return to this court for sentencing on—?” Judge Feiner turned to the court reporter for the answer.

  “October eleventh at nine a.m., Your Honor.”

  “Court dismissed.” A rap of the gavel ended the trial.

  The sheriff joined Smoke and me. “A helluva deal. Could have saved the taxpayers a load of money by pleading guilty in the first place instead of dredging up every unseemly detail at a trial.”

  Smoke scratched at his chin. “Yeah, I’m thinking something happened. Eisner must have finally decided all the cards were stacked against her, something like that.”

  Zubinski, Carlson, and Mason closed in on me and gave small hugs. Sara stepped in a minute later.

  “I don’t know how you did it, being on the stand so long. My own testimony seemed to go on forever,” Sara said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

  “Not easy, for sure.”

  The sheriff clasped his hands together. “You held up fine—all of you. It proves Winnebago County is lucky to have so many professionals on board.”

  Professionals we were, and all of us were relieved the trial was over, even with the abrupt, less-than-satisfying end.

  As the others filtered away, Smoke moved closer. “So, you still gotta work tonight?”

  I nodded. “The chief deputy has my shift covered until five, so I’ll use the extra time to work on reports.”

  “How are you feeling about now?” His eyebrows came together in concern.

  I shrugged. “Numb, I guess. I didn’t expect it to end like that.”

  “No doubt. Kind of a shock, all right.” Smoke leaned his head to the right. “Notice Van House is here?”

  “Yeah, I saw her earlier.” I glanced over at Ms. Van House. Her face held a bewildered, frightened look. “Well, I’m going to say ‘hi’ to the families, see how they’re doing.”

  Smoke nodded. “Yeah, I see Clarice. Catch ya later.” She was the first victim’s daughter.

  I spoke with several family members of the victims. They had been on emotional roller coasters for weeks and could finally start dealing with the reality that the person who had killed their loved ones had been held accountable and would be punished.

  I had one more detail to attend to. I had sent word to Alvie Eisner that I would visit when her trial ended. There would never be a better, or worse, time.

  I secured my sidearm and knife in a gun locker outside the jail and pushed the call button.

  “Can I help you?” the voice from Central Control asked.

  “Sergeant Aleckson to see Alvie Eisner.”

  “Come on in. She’s shackled and waiting in visiting room two. There’s an officer posted right outside.”

  “Thanks.” The first door unlocked, and I stepped into the sally port. When the first door secured, the second one opened. I nodded at Matt, the corrections officer standing guard, paused to gather my strength, and opened the door to face my attacker.

  Alvie Eisner was sitting on a brown plastic chair about a foot back from a brown conference table. Her head was bent. Her eyes were cast on her hands which were cuffed to a belt secured around her waist. Being near to her—nearer to her than I had been since our physical altercation—I realized she had lost weight over the past months in jail. I estimated ten or fifteen pounds. For some reason, I hadn’t noticed it during court the past week.

  Eisner’s lifeless, steel-colored eyes found me when I stepped into the small room. I couldn’t move for a minute and silently be
gged for bravery, grateful her feet and hands were bound.

  “I didn’t know if you would come.” Her defeated tone matched her demeanor.

  I remained standing on the opposite side of the table. “I didn’t either. Why did you want to see me?” I sounded not in the least bit friendly.

  “It’s Rebecca.”

  “What about her?” My heart did a little ping-ping whenever I thought about Alvie’s granddaughter, the little girl who had been abandoned by both parents. Her mother had left her on Alvie’s doorstep when she was a baby, and her father had committed suicide not long after.

  Her cold eyes leveled on mine. “You know I’ll be sentenced next month—it will be for life. I’ll die in prison.” She spoke with certainty then paused. “Rebecca deserves a good home, a good family. I don’t trust Social Services, so I’m asking you. I can tell you care about Rebecca, and I’d like you to be in her life, to be her role model.”

  I was stunned, speechless. How could she ask such a thing? It was not a small thing by any means. It was a thing that would keep us connected, bound until death did us part. My legs weakened. I slid onto a chair across from Eisner.

  When I didn’t answer, she went on, “I’m not asking you to be her mother, just her guardian.” Just her guardian. “I want you to find her a good home. My lawyer has the papers. You’ll get paid. There’s plenty of money, and there’ll be more when the farm sells. A realtor told my lawyer it will get close to a million dollars with all the acres.”

  Still no words would come. She wanted me to be Rebecca’s guardian. She would pay me to be so. And Alvie was worth over a million dollars. As she shared her plans regarding the sale of her farm and finding a guardian for Rebecca, she seemed and sounded so normal. Alvie Eisner was anything but.

  She shifted slightly on her chair. “I have no right to ask you for favors. That’s why I want to hire you. You’re the only one I trust to find her a good home. What do you say?”

  What do I say? If you care so much about Rebecca, you should have thought about all this before you started killing people.

  I finally found my voice. “Ms. Eisner, first I have to ask about your mother. Didn’t she visit you yesterday?”

  Alvie’s hands strained against her cuffs, emphasizing muscled forearms and biceps. “I don’t know how she can call herself my mother. I barely remember her, and she’s about the last person I trust.” She spit out the words with actual emotion in her voice.

  “So you don’t think she should be involved in Rebecca’s care?” As her potential guardian, I had good reason to ask.

  Her eyes narrowed. “No. Why would she show up now, forty years later? Maybe she thinks she’s going to get the farm, or some money. Well, she’s not! She’s been long dead to me and my brother.”

  I mulled over her words a minute. Ten-year-old Rebecca’s lone caregiver faced life in prison. Rebecca must be devastated and scared to death.

  I sucked in a breath of air before answering. “There is one thing we agree on—Rebecca is a very special little girl. I will do my best to find a good home for her, not for you, but for her. And I can’t take any money for doing that.”

  There was a flicker of a smile, like a flash in a pan.

  Her voice returned to monotone. “I understand. Thank you. My lawyer will be in touch with you. The money is all set up, so you should take it. It’s not much.”

  Curiosity got the best of me. “This is a change of subject, but I have to ask you something. What happened today? Why didn’t your lawyer mount any kind of defense?”

  Another hint of emotion skipped across her face. “I wouldn’t let him. The woman who calls herself my mother was there. My lawyer was going to bring up my whole past, going back to my childhood, and I couldn’t let him do that. She has no right to know any more than she already does. After she visited me yesterday, I knew if Rebecca heard about everything, it would hurt her more. It wouldn’t change my sentence much. If I had known she was going to show up, there would have been no trial. I would have pled—”

  Alvie stopped talking and stared at nothing. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she toppled off the chair into a heap on the floor, her large body shaking convulsively. I had seen seizures in my career, but never on someone whose legs and hands were bound. The restraint belt restricted her jerking, handcuffed hands, and the leg chains banged and clanged against the metal chair legs and tile floor. I jumped up and scooted to her side of the table.

  Matt stuck his head in the door.

  I glanced up at his frowning face. “We need an ambulance.”

  Matt radioed Central Control then dropped to the floor by Alvie and me. She was lying on her right side, unconscious, but no longer shaking. A strange combination of snoring and gurgling came out with her every deep, gasping breath. Bloody drool dripped from between her blue-tinged lips.

  “Damn.” Matt kneeled closer to Alvie and checked her carotid pulse. “It’s racing.”

  “She have a history of seizures?” I asked, putting my hand under her head to give her better oxygen flow.

  “Not according to her medical records here. I know she gets bad headaches, but doesn’t take anything for ’em. Just lays down with a cold washcloth over her eyes. One of the officers told the nurse, but Alvie wouldn’t see her.”

  Two other officers rushed in to assist. “She’s not faking it?” one asked.

  I looked up at them. “Afraid not.”

  “Should we leave her cuffed?”

  “Yes. Cuffed and with an armed escort. I’ll call the chief deputy.” I would not be one of her escorts.

  Sara opened her front door. “So you made the old bat seize up, huh?”

  I shook my head and half-shrugged. “She has a way of putting the fear of God into me, one way or another that is for sure.”

  “Into both of us. Are you kidding? When she had you in that death grip, I have never prayed so hard for anything in my life. What’d she want with you, anyhow?” I followed Sara to the living room and dropped onto her couch.

  “You won’t believe it. She asked me to be Rebecca’s guardian.”

  “That nutso, who might I add, tried to kill you and me, asked you to be her granddaughter’s guardian?” Her eyes were huge emeralds. “And you said no.”

  “Actually, I said yes, which is why I’d like to have perhaps one final discussion with her about it. Maybe even arrange a visit between her and Rebecca.”

  Sara reached over and placed her inner wrist against my forehead. “I thought you’d be feverish. Have you gone off the deep end?”

  “Short step,” I quipped.

  “Gosh, Corky. Okay, I have to say that you would make an excellent guardian for Rebecca, but she’s Alvie Eisner’s granddaughter.” Her voice volume went up a decibel.

  “I know, I know.”

  “So tell me everything she said, exactly how it all went down.” She settled back on her chair, her facial expressions changing as I gave my account of the meeting.

  “If you weren’t on duty, I’d offer you a glass of wine.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “If I weren’t on duty, I’d drink two glasses. At least.”

  Smoke’s vehicle was sitting in my driveway when I got home. I wasn’t expecting him there at eleven o’clock at night, but I wasn’t surprised, either. He followed me into my house.

  “You could have just called,” I said.

  “I figured you’d hang up on me, or not answer in the first place,” he countered.

  “Who ratted me out?” I unbuckled and removed my duty belt and laid it on my kitchen counter. It was the fastest way I knew to lose nearly twenty pounds.

  Smoke hovered behind me. “I got back to the office after checking serial numbers on some possible stolen electronics at The Pawn Shop, and Mike Kenner tells me about all the excitement you had while visiting Eisner in the jail.” He grabbed my arm and turned me around. “Were you planning to tell me about it, little lady?”

  I rolled my eyes and moved my head back and fo
rth a few times. “Yes, but it could keep until tomorrow. Isn’t it a little late for you to be out on a work night?”

  He gave my arm a little shake. “I was going to let it go until tomorrow, but the more I thought about it, the more perturbed I got. What in the world would possess you to go see her?”

  As exhausted as I was, it was easier to get the conversation out of the way. “I told you in the first place, I was curious.”

  He lowered his face so our eyes were at the same level. “And did you find out what she wanted, before she checked out on you?”

  “I did.” I pointed at one of the barstools. “Maybe you should sit down—”

  He straightened up and crossed his arms on his chest. “I’m aging here.”

  “She asked me to be Rebecca’s guardian—”

  Smoke’s hands shot up in the air, startling me. “Of all the lamebrain things I have ever heard. Well, that was an easy no.”

  Just tell him. “Not exactly—I agreed to it.”

  “You agreed to it. And why, pray tell, would you do that?” Sarcasm clung to each word.

  Sweat gathered under my bulletproof vest. “I could use a little support here, Smoke. I did it for Rebecca’s sake. She comes from such a dire background, with health problems besides. Eisner wants me to find her a good home and doesn’t trust Social Services. Okay, don’t laugh but she says she trusts me.”

  “Oh, that is rich.” He let out a guffaw-like sound. “With friends like that—”

  “We don’t have to worry about her anymore. She’ll be locked up forever.”

  “Thank the Lord. So how do you propose going about finding a new family for Rebecca? And what about Eisner’s mother? How does she figure in?”

  “I’m going to talk to Rebecca first, see what she wants, then to Social Services. Eisner does not want her mother in the picture at all. It gets a little more complicated.”

  “How could it?”

  I told Smoke about Alvie’s fortune, the reason she had refused to let her attorney render a defense, and the details of her seizure. He was wide-eyed and silent through my entire monologue.