Joseph Hosey - Fatal Vows: The tragic wives of Sergeant Drew Peterson

Copyright 2008 Joseph Hosey & Phoenix Books, Inc.

All rights reserved. Written permission must be secured from the publisher to use or reproduce any part of this book, except brief quotations in critical reviews and articles.

The opinions expressed in this book are those of the author of this book and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher or its affiliates.

eBook International Standard Book Number (ISBN): 978-1-61467-120-6
Original Source: Print Edition 2008 (ISBN: 978-1-59777-606-6)
Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data Available

Kindle Edition: 1.00 (8/8/2011)
Ebook conversion: Fowler Digital Services
Rendered by: Ray Fowler

Book Design by: Sonia Fiore

Cover Photography: AP Images/ M. Spencer Green

Printed in the United States of America

Phoenix Books, Inc.
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For Gracie

He knows how to manipulate the system, and his next step is to take my children away. Or kill me instead.

From a letter dated November 14, 2002, from Kathleen Savio to Will County Assistant States Attorney Elizabeth Fragale regarding her estranged husband, Sergeant Drew Peterson.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

W alter Martineck hardly knows Drew Peterson, a retired police sergeant in the Chicago suburb of Bolingbrook, but hes a good friend of Petersons stepbrother, Tom Morphey. So it was that Martineck found himself unwittingly drawn into the events of October 28, 2007, the day Petersons young wife, Stacy, was last seen. The prologue that follows is a dramatization based on an account Morphey reportedly gave to police, as well as statements Martineck made in the media regarding his strange run-in with Morphey late that day, before Martineck had heard a word about Stacys disappearance. In the months that shes remained missing, numerous stories have flooded out from both those who knew her well and those who barely knew her; stories that the police, and everyone following the case in the national news, are sorting through to answer the vexing question: What happened to Stacy?

Drew Peterson set a cup of coffee in front of his stepbrother, who was slumped in a stuffed chair in the back of Starbucks, away from the wide windows looking out onto busy Weber Road. Tom Morphey sipped the coffee and waited to hear why Peterson had summoned him there.

But Peterson only said, Drink this. You look like you need it.

Morphey could believe he did. Hed woken up that morning with a familiar dull ache behind his eyes and burning in his stomach after spending the day on the couch, watching the Bears give away a game to the Lions. Then he dozed off and might still have been asleep if his stepbrother hadnt called at 5 oclock that evening, asking to meet him at the Starbucks midway between their homes in the Chicago suburb of Bolingbrook.

Peterson told Morphey to be there at seven; it was important.

Morphey heaved himself off the couch and, since he had nowhere else to be, headed over to Starbucks, happy for the chance to help his stepbrother for a change. Usually it was Peterson coming through for him with things like money, furniture, or work. Just the other day Peterson had told him he could probably line up something at the local Meijer department store; Morphey needed the job, and it would not have been the first that Peterson had helped him get.

When Morphey walked into Starbucks, he was early for their meeting. Peterson was already there, sitting in back, reading the paper.

After getting Morphey coffee, Peterson asked, Hows things at home?

Morphey just shrugged and asked about Petersons three boys, daughter, and wife, Stacy. Peterson gushed about the kids: Tom at the top of his class and playing trumpet in the school band, Kris a champion junior high wrestler, Anthony and Lacy adorable and growing up fast. About Stacyhis fourth wife, mother to Anthony and Lacy, stepmother to Tom and Krishe said nothing. He fell silent and stared across the table.

Why arent you working tonight? Morphey asked.

Taking the day off. More silence. Then: I need something.

So he didnt just want to talk, to get something off his chest. HeDrew Peterson, Bolingbrook police sergeant, enforcer of law and orderneeded something from his troubled, unemployed stepbrother. It was the best Morphey had felt in a long while.

What? he said quickly.

Stacy, Peterson said. She said shes leaving me again. You know how she is.

Morphey said he knew.

Its like this every month, Peterson said. Right around her period. Its getting to be too much. Especially since Tina.

Stacys half sister, Tina, had died about a year before. Peterson had told Morphey how hard Stacy had taken it, about her depression, her pills. Morphey, too, knew a little something about depression and pills.

You know what else? Peterson said. I think shes running around on me.

Get out of here.

Peterson pulled out his wallet and opened it to a picture of Stacy, in a tight party dress, leaning over Drew as he sat on a chair. Youd say no to this?

Shes a fox, Morphey agreed, but that doesnt mean shes running around.

Peterson put the wallet away. Its getting to be a problem, he said. Shes a problem. We got to dispose of the problem.

Morphey didnt know what to make of that. He didnt really want to know. Had he even heard his stepbrother correctly? He didnt try too hard to figure it out.

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

Take this. Whatever happens, dont answer it. Just stay here. Dont fall asleep. Get another coffee, whatever. Just dont leave and dont answer the phone. And dont call anybody either. Think you can handle that?

Yeah, Drew.

Peterson left. Morphey studied the phone. It was a nice one, but Morphey did not mess with it. He did not want to screw up. He sat there and tried to stay awake.

After about half an hour, a jolting ring made Morphey drop the phone in his lap. When he picked it up, he saw the caller ID.

Stacy.

Morphey stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. He didnt know what was going on, but suddenly he wasnt so sleepy.

Another half hour passed before Peterson reappeared. When Morphey asked where he had gone, Peterson told him that he just went to run an errand.

Morphey handed back the phone. Your wife called.

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

Out in the parking lot, Peterson said, Give me a call tomorrow. I might have something on that Meijers thing. He got in his GMC Denali and drove off.

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

Morphey put on his jacket and headed for the door. He told his girlfriend Sheryl hed be back in a minute; he had to go to Drews.

When he got to Petersons house, his stepbrother opened the front door before Morphey had a chance to ring the bell. As Morphey stepped inside, Peterson glanced around the sleepy cul-de-sac. It was a few days before Halloween. The air was crisp, the house almost as dark as the street.