by Terri Reid
The maintenance man looked around, checking to see if anyone else was within ear shot, and even when he determined no one was, he still lowered his voice. “I just wanted to let you know that I heard they were going to up the demolition of the third floor,” he whispered.
“What?” Bradley asked.
The man nodded. “Yeah, I thought you might want to know,” he said. “Some guys showed up yesterday, late afternoon, and told the CEO they wanted it done by the end of next week. But, you know, it takes time to get the equipment, so the CEO told them we’d start next Friday.”
Next Friday. That’s how long we have to figure this out and get those kids to crossover, Bradley thought.
“Thank you,” Bradley said. “This is important to know. I really appreciate it.”
The man shrugged. “Hey, you probably don’t remember,” he said. “But I’m Mel Marcum. We met about a year ago. You helped save my son. He was kidnapped.”
This time Bradley did smile. “I do remember,” he said. “How’s your family?”
“My wife is great,” he said. “She…well, you know…she still is grieving for Joey. But it’s getting better. It’s like Joey’s our guardian angel or something. It’s like we can feel his presence.”
Bradley nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” he replied.
Mel shook his head. “And we still get an occasional whiff of dog,” he said, perplexed.
Bradley thought about the ghost dog that had followed Mary and had finally been adopted by Joey. “Well, you know, Joey always wanted a dog,” Bradley said without thinking.
Mel looked even more confused. “Yeah, he did,” he said. “But how did you know that?”
Bradley shrugged. “You must have mentioned it,” he replied. “How else could I know?”
Mel nodded slowly. “Yeah, right,” he said. “How else?”
Bradley pulled out his card and handed it to Mel. “If you hear anything else you think I should know, please give me a call,” he said. “And, if your family ever needs anything, please keep in touch.”
Mel shoved the card in his pocket. “I will, thanks,” he said. “Great to see you.”
“You too,” Bradley replied. “Take care.”
Bradley continued his walk to the administrative offices and entered the executive wing. The CEO’s assistant immediately stood up when she saw him and hurried forward. “We received the call from your office,” she said. “And, of course, Dr. Claeys is happy to make time to see you.”
Bradley nodded. “That was a good decision,” he said briskly.
The assistant gasped softly and nodded. “Please, go straight in,” she said. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Bradley replied.
The office was quite luxurious, with a large, highly polished, wooden desk, and leather chairs both around the desk and in a separate sitting area with a gas fireplace. The walls and shelves were lined with fine art and sculptures. Bradley gave a cursory glance around the room and walked to the desk where Dr. Claeys sat, nervously tapping his pen against his leather blotter.
“Claeys,” Bradley said with a nod, taking a seat in a chair in front of the desk. “I have a few questions for you.”
Claeys nodded, and Bradley noted the drops of perspiration dotting his upper lip.
“Before I ask you any questions,” Bradley continued, “and read you your rights in this ongoing investigation, I thought I would give you the opportunity to tell me what you know. So I can tell the judge in the case that you came to me, freely, in order to help me close this case.”
“This all happened before I was here,” Claeys blurted nervously. “I had nothing to do with the contract.”
Bradley didn’t say a word, only studied Claeys silently.
“Okay. Okay,” the doctor blurted out. “I did know that we were receiving monthly payments from them for the rent of the space on the third floor.”
Bradley sat back slowly and folded his arms across his chest.
“Fine,” the doctor stammered. “I was told about the drug trials. But I didn’t make any of those decisions. I didn’t administer the drugs to the kids. I wasn’t even on the staff at the time.”
“Who?” Bradley asked and smiled to himself as he wondered what kind of valuable information the doctor would blurt out.
“Dr. Reinsband,” Claeys said. “Reinsband had the medical contract with the pharmaceutical company. We just had the facility contract. Reinsband injected all the children, monitored the effects and created the study. All we did was house the study.”
Bradley lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Okay, fine,” Claeys said. “We worked with DCFS to get the participants.”
“Victims,” Bradley inserted.
“Listen, they all had AIDS,” he said. “None of them had any way to pay for treatment. These drugs could have worked. These drugs could have saved their lives…”
Claeys stammered to a halt when Bradley glared at him. “These drugs had side effects,” he said slowly. “Painful, debilitating side effects. You were not trying to cure these children. You were using them as guinea pigs.”
He pulled out his phone, pressed a number and waited until the call was answered.
“Alex,” Bradley said, speaking to Alex Boettcher, the Stephenson County District Attorney. “I’m sitting in the office of Dr. Claeys at the hospital. I have a strong feeling that he wants to make an official statement about a drug trial held here in the hospital in which minors were used.” He waited and nodded. “Yes, I can wait for you to arrive. Thanks.”
He hung up his phone and looked at Dr. Claeys.
“Should I call my lawyer?” Dr. Claeys asked, his face ashen.
Bradley shrugged. “Well, if I were Alex and I learned from the police chief that the CEO of the hospital had contacted the police when he discovered some shady dealings at the hospital, I would wonder why his lawyer was also in the room.”
“You would say that?” Claeys asked. “You would say that I called you?”
“I haven’t been questioning you, have I?” Bradley asked. “You have offered me all of this information freely. I have no problem telling Alex that you have been cooperating with the police department from the start.”
Claeys sighed with relief. “Okay. Good. Great,” he said. “I’ll make a statement.”
Bradley nodded, and then he leaned forward in his chair while Claeys tried to shrink back into his. “But if I find out that you have withheld information from me or Alex,” Bradley threatened, “all bets are off.”
Claeys swallowed loudly and then nodded. “Yes. Of course. Fine,” he stammered. “I will cooperate to the fullest extent.”
“Where’s Reinsband?” Bradley asked.
“He retired several years ago,” Claeys said. “He’s in a nursing home now.”
“Thank you,” Bradley replied. “And do you have any information about the DCFS agent who handled these kids?”
Claeys shook his head briskly. “No. No. I don’t know about that.”
“Okay,” Bradley said, slowly leaning back in his chair. “Is there anyone else who worked the unit who is still connected with the hospital?”
“There is one nurse…” Claeys said hesitantly.
“I think it would be a good idea to have the nurse join us,” he said. “Now.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mary flipped through the sheets of paper inside the file Linda had given her. All of the children had been alone— no parents, no relatives, no guardians of any kind. The State was supposed to have been their safety net, but the State ended up being their worst nightmare.
One name kept reappearing on the forms as the DCFS caseworker responsible for all of the children who were part of the Baker’s Dozen— Carol Ford.
Mary put the name in her search engine and didn’t come up with anything local at all. “That’s odd,” she whispered. “She doesn’t even have a Facebook page.”
She picked up her phone and di
aled Linda. “Hi,” she said when Linda answered. “This is someone you don’t know.”
Linda laughed. “Well, good,” she finally replied. “What do you need?”
“The caseworker for all of these kids was Carol Ford,” she said. “I can’t find anything about her.”
“Carol Ford,” Linda repeated slowly. “Why do I know that name?”
“Well, it’s a good sign that you know her name,” Mary said. “Anything coming to you?”
Linda sighed. “No, it’s not,” she said. “But there’s something there.” She paused. “Why don’t you let me think about it, and I’ll call you back later today.”
“That would be great,” she said. “And in the meantime, I’ll head over to the Freeport Republic and chat with my favorite editor.”
“Oh, good idea,” Linda said. “Jerry is like a walking database on Freeport news. He’ll probably know immediately.”
“If he remembers, I’ll call you so you can stop thinking,” Mary said.
“Thanks,” Linda laughed. “Then I can use my brain power on something else.”
Mary was still smiling when she walked to her car. It was nice to have a friend like Linda who didn’t take herself too seriously. The drive to the Freeport Republic took less time than finding a parking spot. Finally, Mary pulled in behind the paper’s building next to the loading dock. Dutch, the forty-year veteran of the circulation crew, was standing on the dock next to the door. He waved at her when she approached.
“No jokes about getting a fork-lift to help me up,” Mary said. “Okay?”
“Are you kidding?” he replied. “You look gorgeous. But I am going to help you up those steps. They might be slick.”
He hurried down and with Mary’s arm wrapped within his, carefully guided her up the steps to the dock level. “You know, you’re not supposed to look this good when you’re pregnant,” he said. “How come that husband of yours is letting you out alone?”
“Dutch, you know you were always my first choice,” she teased.
“Yeah, don’t let my wife hear that,” he said.
“She wouldn’t mind,” Mary said. “Because you always chose her.”
“So, what’s up?” he asked as he led her inside where it was warm.
“I need to speak with Jerry,” she said.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” he asked. “He’s in a mood.”
“Is he ever not in a mood?” she teased.
“You got me there,” he replied. “Okay, you know your way there. Good luck, kid.”
She was surprised that the smell of ink and mechanical oil didn’t turn her stomach. The chemical smell was pungent and metallic, but oddly appealing. The large presses weren’t running, so the room was quiet as she maneuvered around the massive machines inhabiting the press room to get to the door to the newsroom.
Pushing open the door, she looked around at the bustling energy of the reporters hurrying to meet the daily deadline. Row upon row of ancient metal desks with high tech computers lit up the room. The sound of fingers on keyboards echoed throughout the room as the staff focused on their work.
“Hey, Mary, how are you doing?”
Mary looked over to see her friend Jane, the head photographer for the paper, waving her over. She walked down the narrow aisle to Jane’s workspace. “Hey, what’s up?” Mary asked.
“I wanted to show you something interesting,” Jane said, clicking her mouse on a file folder. “I was here at the paper late one night, testing some photography equipment when I took some photos of the newsroom.”
She clicked on a final thumbnail, and a large image appeared on the screen. “Look,” she said. “Do you see that, in the corner?”
Mary peered at the photo and saw a blurry image in the corner. “What is that?” she asked Jane.
“I don’t know,” Jane replied. “It wasn’t in the other photos I took of the same area a few minutes later.”
Mary lifted her head and looked over to the spot Jane had photographed. The ghost of Anna Paxton, a former society columnist for the paper, grinned at her. The paper had been Anna’s life and now, it seemed, was also her death.
“I think it’s Anna,” Jane breathed, still looking at the blurry image on the screen. “I actually thought I could smell cigarette smoke.”
Anna had been notorious for her several pack a day cigarette addiction.
“Well, she loved working here,” Mary replied. “And she certainly had a fondness for you. If she would appear to anyone, she would appear to you.”
“So, do you think I’ve got something here?” Jane asked, her voice edged with excitement.
“In my humble opinion, I really think that you do.”
“Hey, O’Reilly, are you paying my staff for entertaining you?” Jerry Wiley, the editor-in-chief, called from across the room.
Jane rolled her eyes. “Okay, back to work,” she grumbled. “Thanks for looking.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Mary said, and then she walked across the room toward Jerry.
“Just the man I was looking for,” she said.
“Funny, Jane and I don’t look at all alike,” he replied sarcastically. “And yet, there you were wasting her time while we’re on deadline.”
Mary shrugged. “She was showing me a picture she captured the other night of a glowing entity standing near your office door,” she said casually.
“What?” Jerry exclaimed.
“Yeah, she thinks it was Anna,” Mary continued, biting back a smile. Jerry had encountered Anna’s ghost several times, although he would never admit it. “She actually thought she smelled cigarette smoke.”
“Do you think it was Anna?” Jerry asked, his voice lowered.
Mary looked past Jerry, through the glass walls, to the inside of his office, and then she shrugged. “Could have been,” she said. “Although, Anna prefers to be inside your office.”
Jerry’s face turned pale, and he slowly looked over his shoulder. “Inside?” he asked.
With a wide grin on her face, Anna swiped across Jerry’s desk, sending a pile of papers cascading down from the desktop. But all Jerry could see were the papers suddenly moving by themselves.
Mary turned to Jerry. “That’s odd,” she said evenly. “I didn’t feel a breeze.”
“There wasn’t one,” Jerry muttered. He paused at the entrance of his office for a long moment and then cautiously went inside. He pointed to a Naugahyde and metal chair in front of his desk. “Take a load off, O’Reilly.”
She sat down and smiled at Anna. Anna winked at her before she glided out of the room.
Jerry looked out the glass walls and, once satisfied that no one was watching, leaned forward across his desk. “Is Anna in here?” he whispered. “You can tell me.”
Mary shook her head. “I can honestly tell you that Anna is not in this room with us,” she said. “And now I have a question for you. Who is Carol Ford?”
“Carol Ford?” Jerry repeated. “What the hell do you want to know about her for? Did she escape or something?”
“Escape?” Mary asked.
“Yeah, she was convicted of embezzling government funds,” he said. “Her bank account had tens of thousands of dollars in it. You don’t make that kind of money as a caseworker.”
Mary studied Jerry. He wasn’t telling her everything.
“What?” she asked.
He grinned. “You don’t get put away for thirty years for embezzling,” he said. “No one gets put away for that long…unless.”
“Unless what?” Mary asked.
“Unless someone wanted her put away and shut up,” he said. “Someone powerful.”
“What prison did she go to?” Mary asked.
Jerry’s smile widened. “Well, you are one lucky lady,” he said. “She’s at the Stephenson County Jail.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Bradley stood up when the older woman entered Dr. Claeys’ office, and the woman paused at the doorway, fear apparent in her eyes.
“Maya, thank you for coming down,” the doctor said. “This is Police Chief Alden.”
She nodded and had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. “Chief,” she finally mumbled.
“Ms. Alvarez,” Bradley said. “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
She nodded and bit her lower lip. “Okay,” she replied.
“District Attorney Alex Boettcher is on his way here,” Bradley said. “I’d really like him to be here before I ask you any questions.”
She looked nervously from Bradley to Claeys. “I, um, I’m only on my break,” she said. “The others will be expecting me back.”
Claeys pressed a button on his phone. “Beverly, call up to Maya’s area and let them know that I’m keeping Maya here for a little while. Help them find someone who can take over her shift for a while.”
He released the button and looked up at the nurse. “You don’t have to worry about getting back now,” he said. He glanced toward Bradley and then back to Maya. “And I would really like you to cooperate with this investigation.”
Maya shook her head. “I don’t know anything about anything,” she said.
Bradley nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll confirm that once the DA gets here.”
“I think I want a lawyer here,” she said. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
Bradley nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t have to say a word. But I want you to know that at this point, I’m just asking questions and trying to understand what went on in that unit. You need to decide if you want your version of the story told upfront or later on, once other people tell their account.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what I should do.”
“Well, why don’t you listen for a while,” Alex said as he walked into the office. “And then you can decide.”
Alex turned to Bradley and held out his hand. “Alden,” he said, shaking his hand and smiling with affection. “Good to see you. How’s Mary?”
“As gorgeous as ever,” Bradley said. “The baby’s due at the end of the month.”
“You are one lucky son-of-a-gun,” Alex replied. Then Alex turned to Claeys and Maya. “I’m District Attorney Alex Boettcher,” he said. “And you are?”
