Read Cold Hunter's Moon Online
Authors: K. C. Greenlief
Cold Hunter's Moon (21 page)
After getting burgers and fries at a drive-through, they headed out of town. They listened to the Eau Claire radio newscast while they ate. It brought dire tidings of a residential roof collapse, presumably from the weight of the snow. There had also been two house fires, both started from space heaters, leaving two families with small children homeless. The Red Cross was asking for donations of clothing and household items, as one of the families didn't have insurance. Three hunters from Illinois had been arrested just north of Eau Claire for the 2 A.M. spotlighting and shooting of a deer from their snowmobiles while intoxicated. The six-day forecast called for two to six inches of snow each day. The county superintendent of roads was interviewed on how much their budget had been eaten into so early in the snow season. He got in his plug for emergency appropriations before the latest estimate on the Wisconsin deer kill. The broadcaster ended with a request for listeners to call in and comment on global warning.
They spent their drive back to Big Oak trying to ignore the overcast gray skies and the snow that continued to fall. While Lark drove, Lacey read Mrs. Patterson's twelve pages of notes out loud without finding anything they didn't already know. They planned their interviews for the evening, agreeing that the key to the case lay with the group of college students that kept surfacing around the two dead girls: Katey and Matt Lowery, David Banski, Sandi and Michael Waltner, Shelley Marten, Jim Kryjack, and Ron Chevsky.
They pulled into Big Oak at dusk. Lacey would have killed for a hot bath and Lark would have given a week's pay for a stiff drink and an hour under a hot shower, but it was not to be. Shelley Marten and her parents were waiting at the station for their 5 P.M. appointment.
The Martens had seated themselves together at one end of the table with Shelley in between her two very concerned parents. They stood up
when Lark and Lacey entered the room. Lark studied Dr. Marten's craggy face and salt-and-pepper beard and wondered if his parents had had a premonition when they named him after Abraham Lincoln.
when Lark and Lacey entered the room. Lark studied Dr. Marten's craggy face and salt-and-pepper beard and wondered if his parents had had a premonition when they named him after Abraham Lincoln.
“Please have a seat,” Lark said, waving them into their chairs. “Would you like some coffee or a soda?” he asked as he took a sip from his steaming cup of black coffee.
“Do you have any bottled water?” Shelley asked.
“Let me see what I can do,” Lacey said after Shelley's parents declined refreshments.
“Can you tell me what this is all about?” Dr. Marten asked, his voice full of concern.
“I'm sorry to bring you in here on a Saturday night. We're interviewing several students from the area before they go back to Madison tomorrow. I'm sure you heard about the two bodies we found on the Ransons' property?”
The Martens nodded in unison.
“They've been identified as Gemma Patterson and Terry Foltz, both UWâMadison students.”
The Martens nodded and Mrs. Marten reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand.
“Shelley, your name has come up as knowing both of these girls and we'd like to talk with you about them. You may be able to help us figure out what happened.”
“I'll help in any way I can.”
Lacey walked in with a bottle of water as Lark asked Dr. and Mrs. Marten to step out while they talked with their daughter.
“This should be relatively painless,” Lacey said as she slid the water over to Shelley and flipped open her notebook.
“I didn't know Gemma or Terry well so this shouldn't take very long,” she replied, her eyes flicking between Lark and Lacey as she opened the bottle.
As it turned out, Shelley was right. Other than riding up to Big Oak with Gemma twice during the summer before she died, Shelley and Gemma never crossed paths. She told them that Sandi Waltner and Katey Lowery had ridden up with them and that the three girls seemed to know each other well. Her knowledge of Terry Foltz was similar. She had hitched a ride to Big Oak with Terry, Sandi, and Katey on two weekends the previous spring and had seen the three of them with David
Banski out at the Mason County Country Club. Other than that, she didn't remember any other contact with the two victims.
Banski out at the Mason County Country Club. Other than that, she didn't remember any other contact with the two victims.
Shelley could not remember exactly where she was on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving three years ago, but did know that she was in Madison in the middle of exams. She had driven up to Big Oak the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving with her brother. This Thanksgiving she had driven up on Thursday morning with two of her friends, and had been in Milwaukee with friends last weekend. Lacey wrote down the phone number of the family she had stayed with in Milwaukee, as well as the names of the instructors and classes Shelley had taken fall semester three years ago.
By 5:45 Shelley and her parents were gone and Lark and Lacey were organizing their notes before they did their next interview.
David Banski showed up with his mother precisely at six o'clock. Myra was decked out in her full-length fur coat and dangling diamond earrings. She hugged Lark and Lacey and talked about how concerned she was that two young girls had been murdered in Mason County.
“I feel almost like I'm back in Chicago,” she said as she hustled into the interview room with David. She slipped off her coat and settled into a chair, refusing anything to drink.
“Myra, it would be best if we interviewed David alone,” Lark said, smiling at her.
“Anything you have to ask David, you can ask in front of me.”
“David isn't a minor and we really need to talk with him confidentially.”
“I won't repeat anything I hear. You can trust me.”
“Mom, go outside and wait. I'm twenty-two and more than able to take care of myself,” David said as he got up and pulled out her chair.
“I know that, dear, but this is serious and you might need my help,” Myra protested as David helped her back into her coat.
“Why don't you go on over to the country club and I'll meet you there. I'm sure someone here will give me a ride, and that way you won't be late for the party.” David patted her shoulders, glancing at Lark for support.
Lark took his cue. “Myra, we'll get David out to the club. The last thing we want to do is make you late.”
“You're all ganging up on me so I'll go,” she said, wagging her finger at Lark, “but don't take advantage of my son. Treat him right.”
“We'll do our best,” he said, asking Lacey to escort her to her car.
“Mom's a bit over-protective,” David said as he settled into his chair.
“You're lucky to have her.” Lark sat down across from him. “You probably know why we want to talk with you.”
“I've been watching the news and reading the paper, I can hardly believe it,” he said, shaking his head.
“We need you to tell us what you know about Gemma Patterson and Terry Foltz.”
“Well, let's see,” he said, studying the imaginary graffiti he was drawing on the top of the table with his index finger. “I already told you about Gemma. She and Sandi became friends when they took a class together. Sandi introduced her to Katey Lowery and the three of them were inseparable. Gemma spent some weekends up here with them. Sandi and I went out to dinner with Gemma and Jim Kryjack one night at the Pine View. That's about it for Gemma.”
“How well did you know Terry?”
“I met her a couple of times last spring when she was staying at Katey's. She drove up here a couple of weekends with Sandi and Katey, but that's about it.”
“Do you recall where you were three years ago on Tuesday, November twenty-fifth?” Lark asked as Lacey walked back through the door with two more cups of coffee.
“Three years ago,” he said, glancing at Lacey, “I was in Poughkeepsie, New York. I flew out of Madison on Wednesday afternoon and came back on Sunday evening.”
“What were you doing in Poughkeepsie?” she asked, jotting down notes.
“This is not the best subject for me now that Sandi and I are engaged. I was serious about someone else and flew out there to spend Thanksgiving with her family. It didn't go well and we broke up before Christmas. Sandi and I rode up here together for Christmas break and spent a lot of time together. We've been dating ever since.”
“I thought you and Sandi went out with Jim and Gemma prior to that,” Lark said.
His face turned scarlet. “Sandi and I had been seeing each other off and on.”
“So you were seeing Poughkeepsie and Sandi at the same time?” Lacey asked.
“Patricia, Patricia Spencer.”
“You were seeing them at the same time?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know about each other?”
“Sandi knew there was someone else, but Patricia didn't. What's that got to do with Gemma's murder?” he asked, irritated.
“Who knows?” Lacey said, smiling at him. “You can never tell what will lead us to a piece of the puzzle.”
“Where were you this past weekend?” Lark asked.
“The UW law library. Several friends saw me there.”
“Lacey will get some names from you before you leave,” Lark said. “Thanks for coming in. Are you headed back to Madison tomorrow?”
“Yes, you can call me down there if you have any more questions,” David volunteered. “I'll do anything I can to help. I've always wondered how Gemma could just disappear. It never entered my mind that Big Oak had anything to do with it.”
He left by quarter to seven and Lark and Lacey wandered out to find out who was next. George had his coat on and informed them that the Waltners had changed their appointment to Sunday afternoon so they could go to the country club party. He told Lark that Ron Chevsky was coherent enough to talk with them and was scheduled for Monday.
Jim Kryjack was going off his twelve-hour shift and Lark decided to get his formal interview over with. Jim repeated the same story he had told Lark earlier in the week. Even after viewing a photograph of Terry Foltz, he wasn't able to remember her. Unfortunately, he had been in Big Oak during the time of both murders, working at his parents' restaurant the weekend that Gemma was murdered and on duty when Terry was murdered.
NOVEMBER 25âSWENSON
Lark and Lacey completed their notes and left the station a little after eight. The snow was on hiatus.
They decided to eat leftovers and made a pit stop at a combination video store and gas station to pick up a movie. Lark reluctantly agreed to Lacey's request not to rent a thriller or action flick. They agreed on a romantic comedy.
After two days of frigid temperatures, the house was finally warm and cozy. They changed clothes, heated up heaping plates of turkey and fixings and flopped down on the sofa to watch Julia Roberts find true love. They stopped the movie to watch the ten o'clock news. None of the networks had anything new to say about the murders despite the reporters they had dispatched to the victim's homes. They finished watching the movie just before midnight and went to bed, exhausted and barely able to stay awake.
As Lark undressed in his room, he heard water running in Lacey's bathroom and began to think about the last few days. His room felt cold and empty. It hit him like a rock that he would have preferred to have
her in his bedroom rather than down the hall. He glanced at the picture of his late wife and mentally asked her for guidance. None came.
her in his bedroom rather than down the hall. He glanced at the picture of his late wife and mentally asked her for guidance. None came.
After thirty minutes of reading the same two pages over and over, he turned out the light and willed himself to go to sleep. He tossed and turned for fifteen minutes, then got up. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and took his book downstairs, hoping that getting up and doing something would make him sleepy.
He wandered into the family room and decided to start a fire, thinking it would make him drowsy. Once he got it going, he went into the kitchen to get a beer and ended up rummaging around in the refrigerator for a snack.
“I see I'm not the only person around here who can't sleep.”
“What the hell,” Lark shouted, jerking up and slamming his head into the freezer handle. “Dammit, you scared the shit out of me.” He rubbed a rapidly forming goose egg on top of his head.
A barefoot Lacey stood in front of him, grinning. She looked gorgeous in her dark green robe.
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Lean down here. Let me look at your head.”
“Dammit, woman, you have a real bad habit of turning up without warning.” He sat down on a bar stool to give her a better view of his bruise. “I'm beginning to think you really do have a broom.”
“I was already down here.”
“Already down here?” Lark echoed, raising his head to look at her. “Where the hell were you?”
“Hold still.” She pulled his head back down. “You've got a bad gash in your head.”
“Forget about that. Where were you?”
“The living room. You could use a few stitches. This gash is almost an inch long. Hold still,” she ordered, grabbing a couple of paper towels to press against his wound.
“We're not going to the ER over a little cut like this,” he snapped, pressing the paper towels to his head. “I'll put some ice on it and take a couple of aspirin. It'll be fine.”
“Suit yourself. You'll have a lemon on top of your head in the morning.” She filled a baggie with ice and wrapped it in a dishtowel.
“It'll be fine,” he muttered, as his head began to throb.
“Do you have any peroxide?” she asked, handing him the ice pack.
“Peroxide will hurt like hell.”
“Alcohol hurts but peroxide doesn't. Don't worry, I'll be gentle. We need to clean out that wound. If you don't have any in here, I'll get it out of your first-aid kit in the Jeep.”
“There's some in the closet in the powder room,” he said, resigned to his fate. “Grab me a Tylenol with codeine while you're in there. I've got a few pills left from when I sprained my shoulder last year.”
“Having a little pain, are we?” she asked, on her way to the powder room.
“Just get the damn Tylenol.”
She returned with the drugs, peroxide, and some towels. She draped a towel over his bare shoulders, cracked open the beer he'd managed to get out of the fridge before he hit his head, and handed it to him along with two Tylenol with codeine.
“I only need one of these and I shouldn't take them with alcohol.” He put the beer and one of the pills over on the snack bar.
“For God's sake, who are you, Andy of Mayberry?” She handed him the second pill and the beer. “Take the damn pills.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Lean towards me so I can get this wound cleaned out.” He rested his head against Lacey's chest as she parted his hair to expose the gash and pour a little peroxide into the wound.
“Damn, that hurts like a son of a bitch,” he cried out, rearing away from her and whacking her chin with his head. Lacey stumbled against the counter, dropping the bottle and splattering peroxide over the tile.
“Oh, shit,” Lark yelled, lunging forward to break her fall. He slipped in the peroxide and they both fell.
When the dust settled, they were both on the floor, Lacey on her back with Lark half on top of her. His ice pack had split open, sending ice cubes careening over the floor.
“We're not going to say a word about this to anyone,” she said as she sat up. Ignoring the sharp pain in her right side, she wiped blood from the puncture wound her upper teeth had made in her lower lip.
“I'm so sorry,” he said, scrambling to help her up. “Are you all right?”
“The Three Stooges couldn't have done any better.” She got to her feet. “If Joel ever hears about this he'll make our lives miserable for years. How bad is my lip?”
“You've got a gash about an inch long,” he said, gently assessing the damage. “It's pretty deep. You need to go to the ER for some stitches.”
“Screw you.” She brushed past him on her way to the powder room. “If you're not going, I'm not going.”
“There's a little bit of peroxide left.” He picked up the bottle and followed her. “If we need more, I'll get the first-aid kit from the car.”
“Kiss my ass.” she said, her eyes blazing at him from the mirror.
“You really do need to have that lip stitched. If you don't you'll probably have a scar.”
“Didn't you hear me the first time?”
“You've said so many things.”
“Screw you. Have I said that?”
“That and more,” he said, trying to keep from laughing.
“Are there any butterflies in your first-aid kit?”
“Might be,” he said, heading for the garage. He returned with a package of Steri-Strips.
“Those ought to do,” Lacey said, pressing a towel against her lip.
“You sure you don't want to get a couple of stitches? It might heal without a scar if you get it sutured.”
“We'll bandage it tonight and I'll decide tomorrow if it needs stitches,” she snapped, studying her lip in the mirror. “Can you get me an ice cube?”
After ten minutes of pressure with an ice cube wrapped in a washcloth, the bleeding stopped. Lark cleaned out the cut with peroxide and carefully trimmed and placed the Steri-Strips on her lip. They went to the kitchen to clean up the mess before going to bed.
“I'm impressed that you didn't flinch with that peroxide,” he said as he mopped the floor.
“Women handle pain better than men. I hesitate to think what the birth rate would be if men had the babies.”
“That's original,” he mumbled, mopping up the last of the mess.
“What time do we need to get up?” she asked, noting that it was after 1 A.M.
“We should be in the station by nineâour first interview's at ten.”
“That sounds about right. I wouldn't know how to work this case with more than seven hours of sleep,” she said, as Lark took the mop bucket to the laundry room.
He came back with the bottle of Tylenol with codeine, tossing it across the kitchen to her. “Your lip has to hurt. Take a couple of these.”
She swallowed them without comment and they headed up to bed, each going to their own rooms. Exhausted, they slept until their alarms went off at 8 A.M.
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