Chapter 11
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Houston
“How long did they stay at the shelter?” Flint asked.
“Initial placement was approved for thirty days. They were gone before the term ended. But there are follow-up records.” Gaspar summarized aloud while reading from one of his screens. “Lisa Peterson got a job at a convenience store. Rented an apartment. Enrolled the children in daycare.”
Flint asked, “How long did they stay in the Ravenswood area?”
“Fifteen or sixteen months,” Gaspar summed up the reports. “She was a good tenant. Paid rent on time. Neighbors described her as quiet, devoted to the kids. Worked double shifts to support them.”
“Any social services involvement after she left the shelter?” Flint asked.
“Minimal. The kids were healthy. Well-fed. Peterson attended parenting classes voluntarily. Took them to the public library for story time,” Gaspar scanned faster through the reports. “Everything you’d expect from a young mother trying to do right.”
“Any photos in the files at all?” Flint asked.
“Not so far, but I’ll keep digging.”
Lizzy Pace had been sixteen years old when she fled that burning house with three children. She’d somehow managed to create new identities and build a stable life for them.
Flint wagged his head slowly as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Not many sixteen-year-old babysitters would have been so resourceful. Lizzy Pace was a remarkable girl.
“Then what happened to them?”
“Another tragedy, unfortunately,” Gaspar replied. “Lisa Peterson was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a couple of months before she died. Stage four. Terminal.”
Flint felt a physical pain in his chest. Lizzy Pace had saved those children. Hidden them. Protected them with a false identity. Then cancer had destroyed her and taken what little security the kids still had.
“She died,” Gaspar continued quietly. “Stepped in front of a bus.”
Flint felt his eyes pop open almost without his volition. “Intentionally?”
“Coroner ruled it accidental.”
“You think otherwise?” Flint asked.
“Dunno. Nothing about her behavior screams suicide risk. But she was weak from chemotherapy. Maybe not thinking clearly. She could have stumbled off the sidewalk at the wrong time,” Gaspar said while skimming the accident reports.
“The bus driver was devastated. Retired from his job the same day and left the state.”
Flint processed the timeline. Lizzy Pace had been sick for two months. Dying. Worried about what would happen to the Fisher children when she was gone.
She was probably overwhelmed and could see no other way out. People had certainly killed themselves for less.
“What happened to the children?” Flint asked.
“The state took them into emergency custody when she didn’t return to pick them up from daycare and there was no other option.” Gaspar paused. “Foster care placement initially.”
Flint nodded. It made sense. Three traumatized children. False identities. No verifiable family history. Social services would have had no choice but to place them in the system.
“Were the siblings kept together in the same facilities?”
“Negative. Separated. Three different families. Three different cities across Illinois,” Gaspar murmured as he read. “Eventually, all three families moved out of state. It’ll take a while to track them down.”
“Do you have the placement records? Photos in the later files?”
“I’m working on it. Foster care databases are more restricted. But I can access them, with a bit of effort.”
Flint glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to get on the road. What can you tell me at this point?”
Gaspar’s keyboard clicked faster. The sound came through the phone like distant rain on a tin roof. “Preliminary records show Melvin Peterson was placed with a family in Peoria. Dennis Peterson went to Springfield. Carolyn Peterson was placed in Chicago.”
“Adoption records?”
“That’s where it gets even more complicated. All three children were eventually adopted, but their files were sealed. Closed adoptions. New names. New identities.”
“New identities? Why?” Flint asked.
“Buried deep in the original file was a medical history. Lisa, the young mother, told her initial case workers that she’d run away with her children because she’d been impregnated by her father.
She said he’d also threatened to kill them rather than let that knowledge go public,” Gaspar said with a low whistle.
“No one would want to return those kids to a man like that, even if they could have found the non-existent dude.”
“Right. Lizzy Pace might have been sixteen, but she was a very brave and brilliant girl, wasn’t she?” Flint checked his watch again. “Send me everything you have. Names, addresses, placement histories. We can talk more later.”
“Already in your secure email. Along with copies of the original shelter intake forms.”
“Anything else?”
“One more thing,” Gaspar said. “The convenience store where Lisa Peterson worked. It’s still there. Same owner. Guy named Ahmad Patel. He might remember her.”
Flint wrote down the address. Ravenswood, Illinois was a sixteen-hour drive from Houston. Doable as a day trip, possibly, but only if he postponed the Mount Warren meeting.
Which wasn’t feasible. Sheriff Milliken had been waiting thirty-two years for someone to care about Marilyn Baker’s murder. Flint wouldn’t make him wait any longer.
“I need to call Drake,” Flint said. “Coordinate next steps.”
“He’s probably still asleep.” Gaspar put a grin in his voice. “Like normal people.”
“Drake’s not normal people.” Flint joked as he ended the call and headed to the shower.
Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and preparing to leave. He dialed Drake.
“Morning. Been up since five. Couldn’t sleep either. Too much excitement yesterday,” Drake said with his usual good humor. “Gaspar find anything useful?”
“Possibly.”
The sky had lightened from deep black to charcoal gray. Streetlamps still glowed along the residential street. They created pools of yellow light that would soon be overwhelmed by the rising sun.
Flint brought Drake up to speed on Gaspar’s initial search results. Drake listened without interrupting.
“So the kids are alive,” Drake said finally. “Lizzy Pace saved them.”
“And may have died protecting them.”
Drake sounded troubled. “Which means Jason Fisher is about to learn his siblings survived the fire but lost their protector to cancer.”
Flint had also considered the emotional impact such news would have. Jason Fisher had hired him to investigate whether his siblings might be alive. Learning that they’d all survived, but then suffered more trauma, wouldn’t be easy news to deliver or receive.
Didn’t establish exactly what happened to the children after Lizzy Pace died, either.
“When do we tell him?” Drake asked.
“Not until we have more concrete information. Adoption records. Current identities. Maybe contact information.”
“He’s paying us to find answers. This is a pretty big answer we found.”
Flint understood Drake’s point. But partial information could be worse than no information. Jason Fisher would want to contact his siblings immediately. Which could be disastrous for everyone involved.