My basement contains a scary trap door. It leads to the crawl space under my room addition.
It never used to be scary, however.
In fact, when my brother and I were kids, he kept booze in it, hidden from mom and dad.
And I did the same when I inherited the basement bedroom when he moved out.
Now, however, it appears it may have been a spot for a massive meth stash.
My father, unbeknownst to him (it never was disclosed) purchased a meth house from Moline City Firefighter Todd Fitzpatrick in June 2012 for $85,000. Crumbling roof, cockroach infestation and all.
If you know the whereabouts of QC Most Wanted’s Frank Fitzpatrick, call 911 immediately. Do not call Moline police. I want this young man caught, not sheltered. Call Rock Island police.
Dad had dementia, and he wanted his family home that he lost to my mother back. Obviously, he wanted to leave it to me.
Dad paid cash for this house. A Realtor who was a friend of mine, from the former Davenport Alderman Bill Boom group that I used to hang out with, performed the transaction.
Oh, what a mess.
Alderman Bill Boom case fallout still rippling across community
To get yourself up to speed, here is what the Alderman Bill Boom case was all about. He lied to a grand jury during a federal meth investigation involving the mentally disabled young man who lived at his home. He also owned the town gay bar.
Sadly, the mentally disabled young man is now in prison, unable to meet the requirements of mental health court, which he appropriately was given.
Just remember this young man is mentally ill, and if anyone of sound mind or influence aided or abetted him while he was supposed to be trouble-free during mental health court, they should go to prison as far as I’m concerned.
I know a lot of stuff.
Myself and the Realtor both ran with the Alderman Bill Boom crowd
I don’t know whether to be angry with this Realtor or not. I know my dad was. In fact, dad vowed he was suing both the Realtor and Mel Foster Co. for months and months. He would sit in his chair cussing Todd Fitzpatrick, the Realtor and Mel Foster Co. under his breath all day long.
I never could get a handle on what he was mad about. The Realtor finally called me once and said, “Queen (we called each other that at the time), is your dad going to sue me?”
I never quite understood why he was asking me that. Even with dad’s endless barrage of profanities for the Realtor, Mel Foster Co. and Fitzpatrick, I didn’t put much stock into it.
The next thing I knew, the Realtor had moved to Chicago to become a hairdresser.
Full disclosure: My dad declined an inspection when he bought the home. He told the Realtor, “I know the house.”
The Realtor flat out asked me a bit later: “Queen, is your dad in his right mind?”
To which I replied, “I guess.”
Dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s many, many years prior, but it was very clear that he did not have Alzheimer’s.
And he didn’t. He had a much rarer disease called behavioral-variant frontotemporal degeneration, but that spot-on diagnosis by Dr. Ahmad, a Moline neurologist, did not come until two years before death.
Read more: Everything you didn’t want to know about the strange disease that killed my dad…that myself and/or my brother may also have (between a 25 and 50 percent chance for each of us, by some estimations)
I want to make it clear that this Realtor declared several members of the Boom group filth long before I did, and as far as I know, stopped having anything to do with them a long, long time ago.
How does a private citizen illegally search homes with police?
So, what does this have to do with the trap door?
When QC Most Wanted added Frank Fitzpatrick to the list and sent out a press release, my reactions were many.
First, relief. I was assaulted in my home. Perhaps more than once.
But when I went downstairs and opened the trap door at the suggestion of my brother, and saw that indeed someone had gotten into the crawl space and then (very, very poorly) tried to cover their tracks, I flipped out really, really bad.
My neighbors told me long ago my home was searched as I was being held and tortured in the Rock Island County Jail on no charges (just days after being an informant in the Alderman Bill Boom case, and exactly a year almost to the day of the assault in my basement by my cousin and his friends from this neighborhood).
I went down to RIPD and raised holy hell. I called my alderman and raised holy hell. Finally, the front desk clerk said the system showed the county had been at my home twice while I was in the jail.
Did they assault me (they injected me with something) so they could ransack my house?
Long before we knew about Fitzpatrick, I steadfastly maintained that when I went to Amber Ridge the morning I was “arrested,” I felt as though I had been poisoned. This has been my story to Rock Island Police from day one, even before they finally ORDERED me to change my locks.
So, when Frank Fitzpatrick landed on the QC Most Wanted list, it was an “A Ha!” moment.
My former best friend told my cousin, Lisa Pittard, one night up at Hilltop Tavern that she searched my house with Rock Island police and found meth and crack. At least that is verbatim what my cousin Lisa told me when I ran into her at Aldi around Christmas two years ago.
Can you imagine? A year sober and caring for my dad, working multiple jobs, and serving as an informant in the Bill Boom investigation? I was running on pride and the greatest self-esteem I ever had felt, not meth.
And my estranged best friend who allegedly parties every single day at the gay bar said that? Really???
Is it any wonder people around town run the other way when they see me? The town is pure filth. Increasingly, I even will go so far as to say the RIHS and Alleman classes of 1988 have some of the filthiest of the filth.
Or, they are just currently in their prime Rock Island County mafia years. That probably is more like it.
My family has been completely destroyed by this. My aunt and cousin both are very, very ill. I may never see either one of them ever again.
My understanding is that the former friend still hangs out Mary’s on 2nd for Happy Hour, every day. She works for perhaps the most powerful lawyer in all of Rock Island County, another former friend of mine and regular at Mary’s on 2nd.
How either one of them lives with themselves is WAY beyond anything my mind can comprehend at this point. How many times do I need to be proven right. Oh, several more times are coming, I have no doubt. Believing in that is the only way I can get up each day right now.
I have no family. None at all. I am 100 percent estranged from all of them, on both of sides. The other side has ties to the woman who was on duty at Amber Ridge Memory Care the night my dad nearly bled to death after he alleged being assaulted there. Alternatives for the Older Adult, a worthless, corrupt and disgraceful organization as far as I’m concerned, did NOTHING.
My cousin was good friends with Frank Fitzpatrick. And my cousin and his friends assaulted me in my basement the last night I ever took a drink. Well, until my January-June of this year relapse.
I’ll be writing about every little detail of that relapse within the next week. Warning: I’m not going to make it gloom and doom. I’m going to focus on how much fun my “Connie Contrails Rainbow Tour” was.
But as my therapist said, “Of course it was fun. There were no consequences.”
No, there weren’t, because it happened where there was nobody and nothing around to upset me.
But I did get terribly drunk a few times in Fort Lauderdale and Savannah. For myself, as an alcoholic, reminders of how booze PHYSICALLY makes me feel is enough to stay dry.
No charges ever have been filed against my cousin or anyone else as it relates to my assault.
So why am I bringing this all up today?
When all is said and done, yesterday I became triggered about all of this, for whatever reason. No need to describe triggers, it just brings them up again.
So, I went downstairs to take a long, hard look at that trap door. And this time, I noticed the structural damage to the foundation.
I had the Rock Island police here yesterday to file a report, and State Farm will be coming out next week.
I’m just going to end this blog now. The magic number is 1,200 words for blogs, you know. I’m at 1,189.
Perhaps my former friends can gather round and read this today over cocktails at Mary’s on 2nd.
Until next time.
You can find me on Twitter @DavidHeitz