Bike Stuff For Sale

Gmc Denali

Prologue

Walter Martineck hardly knows Drew Peterson, a retired police sergeant in the Chicago suburb of Bolingbrook, but a good friend Peterson's stepbrother, Tom Morphey. Thus was found Martineck inadvertently dragged into the events of October 28, 2007, the day the young wife of Peterson, Stacy, was last seen. The prologue that follows is a dramatization based on an account Morphey reportedly gave police and the statements made in Martineck the media regarding his strange encounter with Morphey Later that day, before Martineck had heard a word about the disappearance of Stacy. In the months that remained disappeared, numerous stories have flooded out of both those who knew her well and those who barely knew her stories to the police, and all world in the wake of national news, are sorting through to answer the disturbing question: What happened to Stacy?

Drew Peterson set a cup of coffee in front of his brother, who collapsed in a plush chair in the back of Starbucks, away from the large windows overlooking busy road Weber. Tom Morphey sipped coffee and waited to hear why Peterson had been summoned there.

However, Peterson said only, "Drink this. It seems that need. "

Morphey could not believe that he did. She had awakened that morning with a familiar dull ache behind his eyes and burning in the stomach after a day spent on the couch, watching the Bears give the Lions a game. Then he fell asleep and could still have been sleeping if your brother had not called at 5 pm, asking to meet him halfway in between homes in Starbucks in the Chicago suburb of Bolingbrook.

Peterson said Morphey to be there at seven, it was important.

Morphey was launched off the couch and, since in no other being, went to Starbucks, happy for the opportunity to help his brother to change. General, Peterson is coming through it with things like money, furniture, or work. Just the other day, Peterson had that you could probably line up something at the local Meijer stores; Morphey needed the job, and it was not the first time that Peterson had helped him get.

When Starbucks entered Morphey, very early in its meeting. Peterson was already there, sitting in the back, reading the newspaper.
After Morphey get coffee, Peterson asked, "How about things at home?"

Morphey shrugged and asked about three children Peterson, daughter and wife, Stacy. Peterson spilled on children: Tom at the top of his class and playing the trumpet in school band, Kris a champion high school fighter, Anthony and Lacy adorable and growing fast. About Stacy - his fourth wife, mother of Anthony and Lacy, the stepmother to Tom and Kris - he said nothing. He stopped and looked across the table.

"Why are you working tonight?" Morphey asked.

"Take the day off." More silence. Then: "I need something."

So he did not just want to talk, to get something of your chest. He - Drew Peterson, Sgt Bolingbrook police, executor of the Law and order - something necessary to his half-brother in trouble, out of work. What was the best Morphey had in a long time.

"What?" he said quickly.

"Stacy," Peterson said. "She said she was leaving me again. You know how it is."

Morphey said he knew.

"It's like all of this month," said Peterson. "Back from the period. It is becoming too much. Especially since Tina. "

Stacy's half sister, Tina, had died a year earlier. Peterson had told him how difficult it had taken Morphey Stacy, about his depression, his pills. Morphey also knew a bit about depression and the pills.

"You know what else?" Peterson said. "I think he's running around me."

"Get out of here."

Peterson took out his wallet and opened it by a photo of Stacy, in a tight evening gown, leaning to Drew as he sat in a chair. "You would say no to this?"

"She is a fox, "agreed Morphey" but that does not mean it's running. "

Peterson put the wallet away. "It's getting to be a problem, "he said." She is a problem. We have to have the problem. "

Morphey did not know what to do with that. I do not really know. Had he heard from his brother right? Do not try too hard to find.

Peterson rubbed his temples and threw back her hair. "I need to wait here for a while. "Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a cell phone and handed it to Morphey.

"Take this. Any whatever you do, do not answer it. Stay here. Do not fall asleep. Get another coffee, whatever. But do not not answer the phone. And do not call anyone either. Do you think you can handle that? "

"Yes, Drew."

Peterson left. Morphey studied the phone. It was a beautiful place, but not to get Morphey with him. He did not want to ruin. He sat there and tried to stay awake.

After half an hour, a ring of shock brought down Morphey the phone in her lap. When he picked it up, saw the caller ID.

Stacy.

Morphey stared at the phone until it stopped ring. I did not know what was happening, but suddenly I was not so sleepy.

For half an hour before he reappeared Peterson. When you Morphey asked where he had gone, Peterson said he only went to run an errand.

Morphey returned the phone. "Your wife called."

Peterson put the phone in his pocket without looking. "I know," he said. "You did a good job."

Outside in the parking lot Peterson said, "Give me a call tomorrow. It could be something in that thing Meijer." He got in his GMC Denali and left.

A few hours later, he called to Morphey again. "You think you can come here and do I need a hand moving something. The Denali and the Grand Prix are on the driveway, park in front. You all right to drive, right? "

Morphey put on his jacket and headed for the door. He told his girlfriend Sheryl would be back in a minute, was to go to Drew.

When he reached the house of Peterson, his half brother opened the door before Morphey had the opportunity to ring the bell. As Morphey entered, Peterson looked around culture sleep-de-sac. It was a few days before Halloween. The air was fresh, the house almost as dark as the street.

The children were sleeping, and Peterson said Stacy was with his sister. Morphey thought it was strange, since both cars were parked at the entrance. Maybe Stacy's sister had picked up the house.

Morphey Peterson went upstairs in the bedroom. He noticed a blue plastic barrel next to the bed. The barrel was sealed tightly and had two plugged holes in its cover, perhaps the openings of the pump. It seemed a little smaller than a drum of fifty-five gallons.

Peterson down and put his fingers on the edge of the bottom of the barrel. "I'm going to end," he said. "Take it to the top."

He pushed the barrel during Morphey and accepted his weight. It was warm against his hands. Peterson left the room and down the stairs. Morphey walked after holding an end. The canyon was not very heavy, and now Peterson gave his weight as he walked back down the stairs.

Morphey wondered what was in the barrel.

"Chlorine," said Peterson.

Morphey thought it was odd that Peterson would have a barrel of chlorine to your pool all the way up, next to his bed. He wondered why it had to be transferred late on Sunday night, not to mention why it felt warmer than the air in the room. But do not ask any of these questions. It was said to believe only his brother, to go along with it and prove capable of helping with this task simple.

At the bottom, took the barrel through the attached garage and off-street, where Peterson was decided to open the back of the Denali. The two men hoisted the barrel the car. Peterson conceded a piece of wood against it to prevent rolling.

"Well, I'd better get this out of here," he said.

"Where you going?" Morphey asked.

"I know a guy wants to buy some chlorine," said Peterson.

"Now?"

"He wants very badly." Peterson took out a wad of bills from his pocket and the palm in the hand of the Morphey.

"Ah, Drew, we protested Morphey. "You do not have to."

"I have to run," said Peterson as he climbed Denali and shut your garage door from the inside of his car. Morphey watched the door down, then drove home.

In the kitchen, sat down and drinks. His head throbbed. Dispose. Problem. There was some more and then walked up the street to the house of his friend Walter Martineck. The lights shone through the front window, so I knocked on the door.

Wally opened the door and Morphey snapped: "I think that helped me move Stacy with Drew."

Wally tried to follow what he was saying, but was Morphey drunk and rambling, nearly incoherent. He kept trying to push a bunch of money to his friend. Wally refused and asked that the money had come. Morphey not say. He perplexed his old friend at the door and went home.

When she awoke the next morning, his girlfriend told him something he already knew, no matter what much that he tried to convince otherwise. So he went back to bed and tried to forget, tried to pretend it never happened.

When he awoke for the second time and could not go back to sleep, Morphey swallowed a handful of pills and chased them with what was left in a large plastic bottle of alcohol. The rest of that day, 29 October 2007 - the day that Stacy Peterson was reported missing and his girlfriend had been informed in the morning - was lost in large Morphey part. And thanks drift again, hoping that was all a bad dream.

Awakening in a hospital room in Naperville, the following city was not a dream. Through the haze, he heard people saying they had tried to end it all with liquor and pills. In your opinion what these people were saying, no matter that he could not tell what it seemed. Whether deliberately sought to kill, it was perfectly possible, or simply exaggerated trying to block the terrible thoughts running through his mind, Morphey did not know or care. They gave him medicine for sleep, which was nice, but when the drug disappeared, an unwanted consciousness returned. He slept and awoke, dizzy and rejuvenation, Drew Peterson had materialized next to his bed.

Peterson, striking Morphey, leaned over and asked, "How do you feel? "

The above is an excerpt of Fatal Vows: The Wives tragic of Sergeant Drew Peterson
by Joseph Hosey
Published by Phoenix Books, September 2008, $ 22.95US / $ 24.95CAN; 978-1-59777-606-6
Copyright © 2008 Joseph Hosey Phoenix Books, Inc.

About the Author

Joseph Hosey has been a reporter for the Chicago area's Herald News since 1999 and has been on the cusp of every major development in the Drew Peterson case. He is the only member of the media to cover Kathleen Savio's inquest, having broken the stories of her death and, later, the disappearance of Stacy Peterson.