CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ray and Fraser leaned over Elaine's shoulders as she tapped on the keyboard of her computer.
"That's Everett, with 2 T's," Fraser said, helpfully.
Elaine made the correction, then hit "Enter." She read from the screen. "No criminal history under that name."
"Try the DMV," Ray suggested.
She switched programs. "Fifty five David Everetts are licensed drivers in the State of Illinois. Does he have a middle name?"
"He may," Fraser said, "but I don't have one." He frowned, "I mean I do. But not for him." She looked up, exasperated. "That is, I don't know if David does."
"So, what is it?" Ray asked.
"I just said I don't know, Ray."
"No, your middle name."
"I'd rather not say."
Elaine gave him another look. He looked intently at the computer screen, not meeting her eyes.
Ray persisted. "C'mon, it can't be any worse than 'Benton.'"
"Yes," Fraser said, "it can."
"Mine's Charlotte," offered Elaine. "After my Uncle Charlie."
"Charlotte's a lovely name," he said.
"Mine's Edward," Ray volunteered.
"You mean, Eduardo," teased Elaine. "I've seen your file. Raimundo Eduardo Vecchio." She repeated it. "Actually, that's a great name. Very Latin lover-ish."
"Truth in advertising," he said, modestly. Both Elaine and Ray looked pointedly at Fraser. He cleared his throat, muttered something, then said, "Can you narrow it down by age?"
"What did you say?" she asked.
"Can you narrow the David Everetts by age?"
"No, before that?"
"Oh," he said, looking down at his boots. "I said, uh, Archibald."
A grin spread across Ray's face. "You're right. That is worse than Benton."
Elaine smiled at Fraser. "You know that was Cary Grant's real name?" At his surprised look, she went on. "Oh, yes. Archibald Leach." She went back to the keyboard. "You know what they say – a rose by any other name ... so, what is David's age?"
"Eighteen or nineteen," he said, happy to change the subject.
Elaine tapped keys. "O-kay. Here he is. David Michael Everett, born April 15th so that would make him nearly 19. The license was issued when he was 16." She peered at the screen. "No suspension or revocation. It's good for another year." She printed the page, with the grainy black and white picture of a gawky light-haired boy. She handed the paper to Fraser.
"It's a Chicago address," he said to Ray. "Not Elgin."
He squinted at the printout. "That's on the North side. If it's him, saves us a trip out of town." He grabbed his coat. "Let's go, Benny."
He donned his hat and coat. "Thank you kindly, Elaine."
"Anytime."
As they were heading down the stairs, Huey and Guardino were coming up.
"Hey, Vecchio!" Guardino called. "You should see the wheels we just impounded! Swee-eet!"
"Yeah?"
"I'm talking classic here," he enthused. "In mint condition."
"Except for the bloodstains," Huey added, drily.
"Well, yeah, but they can get those out." He shrugged. "And there's always seatcovers." He turned back to Ray. "If it goes to auction, I'm thinking of making a bid. You know more about cars than me. Can you take a look at the engine?"
"Sure," he said, flattered in spite of himself.
"You know, Louis," Fraser began, "I've found that a solution of two parts caribou musk oil to five parts peroxide is quite efficacious in removing bloodstains."
"Course, then you have to get the smell of the caribou musk out," Ray interjected.
"Well, yes," he said, " but a solution of two parts witch haz -." Ray hustled him down the steps, calling "Later" to the other detectives.
The address that Elaine had given them was a row home on the North side. The neighborhood had seen better days. But this house sported fresh paint, colorful curtains and a shiny red tricycle parked next to the stoop . A careworn woman in her fifties answered Ray's knock. Two kids, a boy of about five and a younger girl, peered out from behind her legs. She looked at them suspiciously until Ray showed her his badge and introduced himself and Fraser. He asked if David Michael Everett lived at the address.
"Not anymore," she said, cautiously.
Fraser stepped up. "Was his father Thomas Everett, an officer in the United States Coast Guard?"
"Y-yes, he was," she answered, looking worried. "Is Dave in trouble?"
He answered in his most sincere tone. "We just want to ask him some questions in aid of an investigation, ma'am. There is no evidence of wrongdoing on his part." Ray thought he was splitting that hair pretty fine, but kept that thought to himself.
She looked relieved. Behind her, a kettle whistled. She glanced over her shoulder, then said, "Come in and have a cup of tea. It's cold out here."
"Thank you, ma'am," Fraser said, as he and Ray followed her in.
She led them down a short hallway to a cozy kitchen with red gingham curtains and matching tablecloth. The teakettle was shrieking as she removed it from the stove. She invited them to sit while she fussed with pot, cups and saucers. Fraser had removed his hat. The little boy gazed longingly at it, while the little girl hid behind him with her thumb in her mouth.
"Hey, kids," Ray said, in greeting.
"What's your name?" Fraser asked the boy. He shied away, but continued to stare at the Stetson. Fraser placed it on his head. Of course, it was too big. The boy giggled, but he wore it, tilting his head back, and peering out from under the brim. He had a sweet, shy smile.
"That's Danny," the woman said. "And his sister," she gestured to the girl, "is Bethy." She carried a tray to the table. "My name is Frances McIlheny." She poured tea into china cups, offered them milk and sugar, and took a seat.
"I'm their foster mom," she said, nodding to the children. "As I was for Dave. For a little while, anyway."
"I thought Dave lived with his grandmother," Ray said.
"She died when Dave was twelve," she said. She shook her head, sadly. "He had no other family to take him in. So, he went into care. We were his third or fourth placement, I believe."
"How long did he live with you, Mrs. McIlhenny?" Fraser asked.
"Oh, please." She waved a hand at him. "Call me Frances." She thought for a moment. "About a year and a half. He was fifteen when he came to us. Not yet seventeen when he left."
Ray politely sipped his tea. "He got his driver's license while he lived here?"
Frances smiled. "Oh my, yes. Passed it on the first try. One of the few times I saw Dave happy." She put store-bought chocolate chip cookies on a plate and passed them around. "He took driver's ed at school. We don't own a car, so my husband couldn't teach him."
"Why did Dave leave?" Fraser asked.
"Trouble at school. He was being picked on by a gang of kids." Her expression grew serious. "So, he began cutting class. We didn't know anything about it. He'd leave for school same time as always and come home in time for dinner. He kept that up for months. It was only when a truant officer showed up one day that we found out."
Ray looked down. Bethy was trying to climb into his lap. He reached down and boosted her up. She settled back against him, thumb in her mouth. He split a cookie with her and dunked his half in his tea. She wanted to do the same so he held the teacup close for her. A soggy clump of cookie dropped on to his designer tie, but he just brushed it away without comment.
Fraser suppressed a smile. Ray was a natural with children, though he pretended otherwise. He turned back to Frances. "Where did Dave go?"
"Social Services said we couldn't manage him. So, they took him out of our care and put him into a group home." She shrugged. "I suppose they were right. I hadn't a clue that he was skipping school." She squinted in thought. "He must be over eighteen by now. A legal adult."
"Do you know his whereabouts now?"
"No, we didn't stay in touch. I visited him once at the group home, but he made it clear he didn't want me to come back." She sipped her tea. "You have to understand. He was never any real trouble to us, but he kept his distance. We had two other children living here at the same time, but Dave wouldn't bother with any of us. It was obvious that the child was lonely and hurting, but he didn't want to be here." She sighed. "Unfortunately, he had nowhere else to go."
"Any friends?"
"He never brought any home. He'd get up, go to school, come home for dinner, and go to bed. Or pretend to."
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Ray asked,
Frances shook her head. "I've often thought about him, wondered how he was doing." She looked at both of them. "I do hope he's not in trouble. If you find him, please tell him I was asking for him. He's welcome to come by and see us."
Fraser assured her that they would. They finished their tea and thanked her. She walked them to the door. Fraser crouched down and spoke to the boy.
"I have to go back to work now, Danny. May I have my hat back?" At the boy's nod, Fraser inclined his head. Danny placed the hat on his head, giggling. It was on backwards, but Fraser let it be.
"I think it looks better on Danny," Ray said, with a wink at the kids.
Fraser turned back to Frances. "If he wasn't actually going to school everyday, where did he go during school hours?"
She shrugged. "The social worker said he was doing odd jobs at a marina up on the Lake. I don't know which one. Under the table stuff, you know?" She paused, thoughtfully. "A couple of times, we picnicked at the Lake when he was with us. He loved watching the boats." She sighed. "I guess he got that from his father."
Frances and the children waved goodbye from behind the glass door as they took their leave. They sat in the Riv for a few minutes. Dief poked his nose up at them from the back seat, then went back to sleep.
"Cute kids," Ray commented, dabbing at the spot on his tie with a tissue. "I hope she has more success with these two than she did with Dave."
Fraser set his hat to rights. "They appear happy and well-cared for."
"She's a good foster mom. You can see it in the way the kids are around her." He grimaced. "That's not always true." He looked at Fraser. "Now what? It's a pretty big lake."
"Ah," he said, "but Dave didn't have a car. He would have walked, or perhaps taken public transportation, though I would think bus fare would be prohibitive. He was traveling there to and from home every day for months. It has to be close by."
Ray snapped his fingers. "The marina above Oak Park," he said, and put the Riv in gear. He pulled away from the curb. "You hungry?"
Dief yipped in the affirmative.
"You're always hungry," Ray groused.
"I am hungry, yes," Fraser said.
"There's a lunch wagon parks up at Oak Park Beach. Good chili dogs," he said. "We can stop there on the way." Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the car, with chili dogs and Cokes, looking out on the Lake. There were a few cars in the big parking lot, a couple of joggers on the beach, and a lone figure far out on the jetty. It was cold, with the breeze coming off the Lake. The water was steel blue, dotted with whitecaps.
Ray spoke around a mouthful of food. "So, what's the plan?"
Fraser chewed and swallowed before replying. "Show the DMV picture around the marina. Ask questions. Hopefully, ..." .
"... you get lucky," Ray finished the thought for him. "Don't expect much in the way of cooperation, Benny. That's a whole other world up there and cops ain't welcome to it."
He nodded, sipping Coke through a straw. Diefenbaker whined in his ear. Fraser spoke over his shoulder. "I am not giving you any soda. You know the effect carbonated beverages have on you. It'll be bad enough tonight with the chili dog."
Dief grumbled, but settled in the back seat, acknowledging the truth of it.
Ray was about to make a comment, when the radio squealed. "Vecchio!" He grabbed the mic. "Hi, Elaine."
"A body was found in an alley at Tenth and Costello, behind the mini-mart. The Lieutenant wants you there ten minutes ago."
"Got it. On our way." He replaced the mic, gulped the last of his drink, and handed the cup to Fraser, who was gathering the trash. "Sorry, Benny. We'll have to –" He stopped.
Fraser was staring through the windshield at the man on the jetty. As he stepped down on to the beach, he bent and scooped up a rock, then flicked it expertly into the water. It skipped several times before sinking. Fraser picked up the printout with David Everett's picture, then took the spyglass out of his inner breast pocket and peered through it.
"What?"
He handed him the small telescope. "Look at his right arm, Ray."
Ray peered through it, adjusting the sight. He was looking at a raw-boned young man, with light-colored hair, wearing a dark blue nylon windbreaker. His gaze traveled down to his throwing arm as he skipped another stone. There was a gap in the material where a white lining was showing through.
"Son of a bitch," he said, awestruck. He handed the spyglass back.
Fraser looked at him, indecision on his face.
"Go! You may never get another chance," Ray said. "Call me later." He looked at his watch. "I gotta go."
"Thanks, Ray," Fraser said, the trash from their meal filling his arms. He opened the door, held it for Dief, and deposited the trash in a refuse container that stood near a portable toilet. He grabbed his hat from the dash, set it on his head, and closed the door gently. Ray pulled away as quietly as he could. He didn't want to attract the attention of the young man on the beach. He was several blocks away before he turned on the flashing light and siren and put the pedal to the floor.
