I Know a Secret

Twenty-three

“When the apple Tree Daycare abuse case went to trial, I was still in high school, so I don’t know any more than you do. But you should be able to find what you need in these documents,” said Norfolk County Assistant DA Dana Strout. Though she was only in her mid-thirties, gray roots were already peeking out in her hair, visible testimony to her stressful job as a prosecutor and a schedule too demanding for a much-needed visit to the hairdresser. “These boxes should get you started,” Dana said as she dropped yet another load of files onto the conference room table.

Frost stared in dismay at the half dozen boxes that were already lined up on the table. “This is just to get us started?”

“The Apple Tree Daycare case was one of the longest criminal trials in the history of Norfolk County. These boxes contain the documents for just the pretrial investigation, which lasted over a year. So you’ve got a lot of homework. Good luck, Detectives.”

Frost asked, with a note of desperation, “Can someone in this office give us the CliffsNotes version? Who was the prosecutor on the case?”

“The lead prosecutor was Erica Shay, but she’s out of town this week.”

“Is there anyone else who remembers the case?”

Dana shook her head. “The trial was twenty years ago, and the other attorneys on that case have all moved on. You know how it is in public service, Detective. Too much work for too small a paycheck. People move on to better jobs.” She added, under her breath, “I’m thinking about it myself.”

“We need to track down all the children who gave evidence in that trial. We can’t find their names anywhere,” said Jane.

“Because the victims’ identities were probably sealed by the court to protect their privacy. That’s why their names won’t turn up on any Google search or media reports. But since you’ve got an active homicide investigation, I’ve given you access to all the records you need.” Dana surveyed the boxes, then slid one across to Jane. “Here, this is probably what you want. It contains the pretrial interviews of the children. But, remember, their identities remain sealed.”

“Absolutely,” said Jane.

“Nothing leaves this room, okay? Take notes if you need to, and ask the clerk if you want photocopies. But the originals stay here.” Dana went to the door, where she paused and looked back. “Just so you know, this office really doesn’t want the case dragged back into the public eye. From what I’ve heard, it was a painful time for everyone involved. No one wants to revisit the Apple Tree.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Are you certain this is relevant to your investigation? That trial was a long time ago, and I guarantee, Erica Shay is not going to be happy if it gets splashed across the front pages again.”

“Is there some reason why she didn’t want to share this information with us?”

“What do you mean? The boxes are right there.”

“But we had to call the governor’s office to access these files. We’ve never had to do that before during a homicide investigation.”

Dana said nothing for a moment, just looked at the boxes lined up on the table. “I really can’t comment.”

“Did someone ask you not to?”

“Look, all I can tell you is, the trial was very sensitive. For weeks it was front-page news, and no wonder. A missing nine-year-old girl. A daycare operated by a family of pedophiles. Charges of murder and satanic-ritual abuse. Erica scored guilty verdicts for the abuse charges, but she couldn’t convince the jury on the murder charge. So you can understand why she’s not happy about this being dredged up again.”

“We need to interview Ms. Shay. When will she be available?”

“As I said, she’s out of town, and I don’t know when she’ll be able to talk to you.” Dana turned to the door again. “Better get started. Office closes in two hours.”

Jane regarded the boxes and sighed. “We’re going to need a lot more than two hours.”

“More like a month,” grumbled Frost as he lifted an armload of files from the pretrial box.

Jane grabbed her own stack of folders and sat down across from him. Shuffling through the labels, she saw that they contained interviews, medical reports, and psychologists’ evaluations.

The first folder she opened was labeled Devine, H.

She and Frost had earlier read the Boston Globe coverage of the trial, so they were already familiar with the basic facts of the case. The Apple Tree Daycare Center in Brookline, operated by Irena and Konrad Stanek and their twenty-two-year-old son, Martin, provided after-school supervision for children aged five to eleven. It also offered afternoon bus transportation straight from the local elementary school, a much-valued service for busy working parents. Apple Tree called itself a place where both minds and souls are nurtured. The Staneks were well-regarded members of the local Catholic church, where Irena and Konrad taught catechism classes. Martin had recently begun driving the Apple Tree school bus, and he liked to entertain the children with his magic tricks and balloon animals. For five years, Apple Tree Daycare operated without a single notable complaint.

Then nine-year-old Lizzie DiPalma vanished.

On a Saturday afternoon in October, Lizzie walked out of her house wearing a knit cap decorated with silver bugle beads, rode away on her bike, and was never seen again. Two days later, Lizzie’s beaded hat was found on Martin Stanek’s bus by one of the children. Since Martin was the only driver of that bus, he instantly became the prime suspect in Lizzie’s disappearance. The case against him solidified when ten-year-old Holly Devine revealed a shocking secret.

Jane opened Holly Devine’s file and read the psychologist’s interview of the girl.

With growing horror, Jane read what the Stanek family had done to Holly Devine. The slapping, the fondling, the bruising. The penetration. She had to close the file and take a few deep breaths to calm herself. What she could not do was rid herself of the images of those three predators and their ten-year-old victim. Nor could she avoid thinking about her own daughter, Regina, who was only three years old. She thought of how she would react if she ever caught such monsters abusing her child. She thought of how little would be left of them after she finished exacting her revenge. If ever Jane broke the law, it would be for doing what mother bears do to anyone who threatens their cubs.

“Timothy McDougal was only five years old,” said Frost. He looked up from the file he was reading with an expression of disgust. “His parents didn’t even realize he was molested until the police called and said their son might be a victim.”

“They had no idea he was being abused?”

“None at all. Same with Sarah Byrne. She was only six years old. It took half a dozen interviews by therapists before Sarah finally told them what happened.”

Reluctantly, Jane refocused on Holly Devine’s file.

She set aside the file, flipped open her laptop, and searched online for the name Holly Devine. She found Facebook pages for two Holly Devines. One was forty-eight years old and lived in Denver. The other was a thirty-six-year-old in Seattle. There was no Holly Devine in Boston, or any who matched the age of the Holly Devine who’d been abused at Apple Tree. Perhaps she’d married and now had a different last name. Perhaps she simply had no online presence.

At least her name had not turned up in any obituaries.

In the psychologist’s report, she found the phone number listed for Holly’s family. Twenty years later, did the girl’s parents still live at the same Brookline address, have the same phone number? She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

Three rings later, a man answered: “Hello?” Deep-voiced and gruff.

“I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston PD. I’m trying to locate Holly Devine. Would you happen to know—”

“She doesn’t live here.”

“Can you tell me where she is?”

“No.”

“Are you Mr. Devine? Hello?”

There was no response. The man had hung up.

Well, that was weird.

“Jesus,” said Frost, staring at his laptop.

“What is it?”

“I’m looking at the file for Bill Sullivan, eleven years old. He’s one of the kids who was abused by the Staneks.”

Bill. Billy. She opened Holly Devine’s folder again and spotted the name.

Billy and I were screaming, but no one could hear us, because we were in the secret room...

“I googled the name,” said Frost. “A young man named Bill Sullivan has just gone missing in Brookline.”

“What? When?”

“Two days ago. This missing man is the same age, so he could be the same Bill Sullivan.” He spun his laptop around for Jane to see.

Displayed on the screen was a brief article from The Boston Globe.

“Same name. Same age,” said Jane.

“And the mother’s name in the boy’s file is also Susan. It’s got to be the same kid.”

“But this isn’t a homicide; it’s a missing-persons case. That doesn’t fit the pattern.” She looked at Frost. “What’s the boy’s birthday?”

Frost glanced at Bill Sullivan’s file. “April twenty-eighth.”

She pulled up the liturgical calendar on her laptop. “On April twenty-eighth, they honor Saint Vitalis of Milan,” she said.

“Was he a martyr?”

Jane stared at the screen. “Yes. Saint Vitalis was buried alive.”

That’s why Bill Sullivan’s body hasn’t been found.

She jumped to her feet. Frost was right behind her as she walked out of the room and headed down the hall, straight to Dana Strout’s office. The attorney was on the phone and she swiveled around, startled, as Jane and Frost invaded her space.

“The Staneks,” said Jane. “Are they still in prison?”

“Do you mind if I finish this phone call first?”

“We need answers now.”

Dana said into the phone, “They’re standing in my office right this minute. I’ll call you back.” She hung up and looked at Jane. “What is this all about?”

“Where are the Staneks?”

“Really, I don’t understand the urgency.”

“The Staneks went to prison because the children at their daycare center accused them of abuse. Three of those children are now dead. One has just gone missing. I’ll ask you again. Where are the Staneks?”

For a moment Dana tapped a pen against her desk. “Konrad Stanek died in prison soon after the trial,” she said. “His wife, Irena, passed away about four years ago, also while in prison.”

“And their son, Martin? Where is he?”

“I just got off the phone with Erica Shay, the prosecutor. She says Martin Stanek served out his sentence. He’s been released.”

“When?”

“Three months ago. October.”