Dead Insider (11 page)

It was six o’clock when they all gathered in Lew’s office at the police station. Ray laid Mike Kelly’s cell phone on the round table in the corner that Lew used for meetings. He had slipped it into a Ziploc bag, which was slightly fogged from the water that kept dripping from the phone.

“I’m not sure I’m with you on this rice thing,” said Bruce, who had been pushing the bag around. “Not sure at all.”

“You got something better, you take it,” said Ray. “All I can say is that rice worked on my phone.” He pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and handed it to Bruce. “See what you think.”

Bruce shook his head as he said, “Okay, let me see if I can get any prints off this first. Then you give it a try. If that doesn’t work, we’ll send it to the phone company and see what they can do.”

Lew, leaning back against her desk with her arms folded, said, “I’m okay with this. If I have a working phone with the victim’s recent messages by late tomorrow, it’s worth a try. We know the phone company said it will take them days to resurrect it, and even then they can’t promise it’ll work.”

The door to the office opened and Mallory entered, followed by Kenton. “Mind if Kenton sits in on our conference?” she asked. “He has some new info on one of the senior people on Jane Ericsson’s campaign staff.”

“Really,” said Lew. “Kenton, I don’t recall asking you to join the investigation. If you’ve been going around questioning people—”

“Gosh, no,” said Kenton. “I just—overheard something, that’s all.”

Lew hesitated before saying, “Well … okay, but everyone here has been working since early, early this morning. I’m only interested in facts right now, Kenton. Not hearsay. But you go ahead, sit over there by Dani. Just keep what you hear in confidence. Understand?” Kenton nodded in agreement.

Osborne turned away so no one would see him grin. He suspected she had agreed to let him stay to accommodate Mallory.

“If there is anything I don’t need it’s someone like you jeopardizing the integrity of this investigation. The only people who should be in here right now are Doc, Ray, Bruce, Dani, and Mallory. Mallory because she’s helping me handle the press, and my tech, Dani, because she’s taking notes and handling our online research.”

Dani, a chubby brunette who was sitting back in one corner, waved a hand at the crew. Lew had brought her on board a year ago after the cosmetology major at the local tech college had turned out to be a wizard at using computer databases for investigative searches.

“I understand,” said Kenton. He opened his mouth to say more when Lew said, “Whatever you’ve got to say—later. I need to hear from the crime lab first. Bruce, you start.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’ve examined what we have of the victim, Jane Ericsson.” Bruce looked down at his notes. “What we have is the head, the right leg, the left forearm, one foot and two sections of the torso—six body parts total. Bert Gilligan’s crews have crawled through the storm sewer where it is wide enough, and found nothing. They have also been diligent in watching the surface water where it flows into the culvert on Woodland Avenue, as well as the culvert that empties into the Tomorrow River. So far, nothing there, either.

“However, the severing of the body parts was so skillful, the knives used so sharp, that I am convinced we’re looking for someone who is a butcher—or was a butcher. This person is more skilled than a surgeon. One thing we still have to test for, even though it seems obvious, is to confirm the DNA of all the body parts—that they are all from the same individual.

“My youngest sister is a research doc in pediatrics, working down in Kansas City, and she is at a hospital with a pediatric genome lab that has perfected a speedy sequencing of DNA for treating babies. Our goal is simpler: we are just trying to match the DNA samples from each body part. I sent the samples down to my sister late today, and she thinks she may be able to confirm a match some time tomorrow, or early Tuesday at the latest.”

“I have one problem with your theory that we’re looking for a butcher,” said Ray. “Lots of people around here butcher their deer. Lots. I mean, everyone hunts, and no one likes paying to have their meat butchered.”

“I know that,” said Bruce. “But this person is better than an amateur who cuts up a deer once a year. We’re looking for an experienced butcher. And it was someone who had access to Jane Ericsson’s house.” Bruce let his statement hang in the air.

Osborne dropped his head so no one could see the worry in his eyes. Should he mention that Kaye Lund was one of the best butchers of deer in the region? The fact that she and Jane had recently fallen out? That Kaye lived so close? That grim thought was countered by his memory of Kaye’s difficulty moving—it was hard for her to get out of her rocking chair, even. He decided not to say anything … yet.

“What makes you think so?” asked Lew.

“On a hunch early this afternoon, I pulled the drains in the kitchen at the Ericsson place—the sink against the wall on your right when you enter from the stairs leading up from the driveway, and the sink in that kitchen island. I found what I am sure is human blood in both.” Before anyone could open their mouths, Bruce grinned. “Yep, it’s been sent off with the tissue samples to my sister for DNA analysis.

“Once I found that, I closed off the kitchen from the living room so I had low light, and sprayed the entire kitchen with luminol. I found trace amounts of blood on the cutting board surfaces on the island, as well as where it had dripped down the cabinet fronts and onto the floor. Also traces on the counters beside the sink. Someone did a very nice job of cleaning up, but not nice enough. And it sure as hell isn’t deer season.”

Lew heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Bruce. Good progress on that front. Doc, what do you know about the victim in the van?”

Osborne sat up in his chair. “I talked to Mike Kelly’s girlfriend two hours ago. She is driving up from Madison to the Wausau Crime Lab where she will ID the body in the morning. Bruce is still working with the van and the victim, right?”

Osborne looked over at Bruce who said, “Yes, I’m having the body driven down to Wausau shortly. I want to be sure we have all trace evidence cataloged before letting it go. But, Doc, you had interesting observations—tell Chief Ferris what you found.”

“Not being a pathologist, I do the best I can,” said Osborne. “Once Bruce got to the van to help me so we could be sure not to damage the wound track, I slipped my palms under the victim’s arms. I would have felt some warmth if he hadn’t been dead long, but the body was cold and clammy, which makes me think he died eighteen to twenty-four hours ago. Rigor mortis speeds up in heat like this, so that was no help. Since the victim had lost a lot of blood through his wound, we didn’t see significant lividity, either. Some putrefaction was setting in—”

“I’ll say,” said Ray. “You did not want to get too close to that poor sucker.”

“And no money?”

“No money.”

“Well,” said Lew, sitting back in her chair, “a lot accomplished, but no lead on our killer.” She looked across the room to where Mallory sat listening. “What do we say to the press now?”

“Nothing, unless we have the local TV crew out there. Shortly after noon today, a major sex scandal broke in Washington, D.C. They’re gone.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, you can relax. For the local media, I suggest you wait until tomorrow morning and we’ll give them something then, around ten
A.M
. or so. If you’d like, Chief Ferris, I’ll work on a press release tonight and show it to you tomorrow for any changes you want. Then Dani and I will hand some out, and e-mail the rest. The media horde may be gone,” she said with a chuckle, “but Dani and I have about fifty business cards.”

“Okay, folks, if that’s it,” said Lew, getting to her feet.

“Wait! What about me?” asked Kenton. “My information could be a turning point in this case.”

Lew sat back down. “The floor is yours, Kenton.”

“So this morning after Ray left Mallory and me with his friend, Christina, we were standing out in the driveway by the Ericsson place—you know, when you stepped outside and Lauren Crowell came out with you?”

“I remember,” said Lew.

“Well, Christina recognized her.” Kenton stepped into the middle of the room and made eye contact with everyone as he spoke. “She said that one of the assistants in the art gallery up in Manitowish Waters had caught Lauren stealing hair extensions worth hundreds of dollars.”

The room was silent. Lew’s voice was gentle as she said, “Kenton, there is an old saying in law enforcement: The worst witness is an eyewitness.”

“You don’t believe me?” Kenton looked flustered.

“I believe you. I don’t believe Christina what’s-her-name’s assistant, or even Christina herself. Do they have this on a surveillance tape?”

“I asked about that, but they recycle their videotape every forty-eight hours, so no.”

“Thank you for trying, Kenton.”

Osborne watched as a deep red flooded into the young man’s face. “One more thing, Chief Ferris—”

“Can you keep it short?” asked Lew. “We’re all ready to leave.”

“I asked one of the campaign staffers where Lauren Crowell lives—you know, where her home is, where she used to work—stuff everyone knows about me, or about Mallory. And
no one knows anything
.”

“Kenton, it’s obvious you have it out for the woman. I think you’d better tone it down.”

Kenton closed his eyes as he said, “Chief Ferris, trust me, I just know something is not right about her. Is there any reason not to run a background check on her? A criminal background check—not just a Google search.” He glanced over at Dani. “I can help Dani. I’ll bet we could do it in fifteen minutes.”

Lew mulled over his request. “On one condition, Kenton. Get the names of all the staff working in the local office. I would be more comfortable if we can say we’re running background checks on the whole crew. Plus, I have to admit it makes sense.

“Now, it is after six, people. Go home and get some rest. Bruce, can you finish up pretty soon? You and Doc have been up as long as I have.”

“No fishing tonight?” asked Bruce.

Lew gave him the dim eye. Delighted with his own cleverness, Bruce’s eyebrows jumped around. With that, they all got to their feet to file out of the office. Lew was the last one out, and she locked the door behind them.

Lew poured herself an iced tea, and walked down through the field behind her little farmhouse to the wooden swing that looked out over the pond. The sun had dropped behind the tall pines on the peninsula to her right, cooling the night air. Bats had begun to swoop in the shadows, hungry for the mosquitoes that were just waking up.

With the creaking of the swing, her shoulders relaxed. The lemon in the tea soothed her throat. So much talking today—questions from the reporters, the mayor, everyone on staff needing direction. She was tired but satisfied. And tonight, her own bed. A firefly grazed her knee.

She remembered how her grandfather had let her sleep outside on nights just like this: the breezes soft, the distant wailing of a loon. Lew smiled to herself. Ever since getting to know Ray Pradt and his encyclopedia of birdcalls, she didn’t trust herself to judge if it was a real bird or Ray putting her on.

Tonight it was a real loon. That she was sure of, since everyone from Ray to Doc to Bruce had to feel as bone tired as she did. Taking a final swallow of tea, she sensed someone approaching. She turned to look over her right shoulder. A curtain of dusk had fallen across the field behind her. It was empty. She turned back to the lake, her body tensing. She could feel it in her back: someone was watching. She turned around fast. No one.

Then, in her peripheral vision to the left, she saw a dark shadow move along the fence surrounding the apple orchard. But the moment she saw it, it was gone—vanished into the woods. Had she really seen something? Someone?

Lew got to her feet and kidded herself for feeling so vulnerable. She knew the local wolf pack had grown in numbers, and the young were scouting new territory. That must have been what she saw. Nothing to be afraid of; just a wolf.

After setting down his copy of
Trout Madness
, which he was rereading for the umpteenth time, Osborne turned out the light on his bedside table. The windows were open to the moonlight; a breeze off the lake cooled his forehead. He was missing one thing: Lewellyn. He slept better when she was beside him.

A soft knock on the bedroom door brought him up on one elbow. “Dad?”

Osborne sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Just a second, Mal, hon.” He pulled on his bathrobe and opened the door.

“Can we talk for a minute? I know it’s late, but—”

“No, this is fine. Where’s Kenton? Want to go out on the porch? Cooler out there.”

“No, Dad. I don’t want Kenton to hear me.” She dropped her head, and in the pale glow from the moon, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“Dad, what do you think of him—of Kenton, I mean?”

That was a tough one. Osborne hesitated. He had made so many mistakes with this daughter, and only in the last two years had they seemed to find the closeness that had been missing since she was a child. He had to be very careful.

“I guess,” said Osborne, “my question is … is there room for you in his life? He’s always on the phone or on his computer. I’m not sure he hears you when you’re talking to him. I know Kenton has a big job, but he’s just so busy.”

“You think he’s a jerk.”

“Narcissist is a kinder word. It’s all about him, sweetie. The phone calls, the e-mails, the schedule the way he wants it, the likes, the dislikes. I could see he was irritated that Lew asked you—not him—to take charge of the media today.”

“Was Mom like that? Always having to be in control?”

“That’s how I know one when I see one. Experience counts.”

Mallory was silent for so long that Osborne wondered if he had just said the wrong thing. She had been her mother’s favorite for so many years. To the exclusion of Osborne himself, which he hadn’t realized and accepted until he was in therapy during his rehab at Hazelden.

“Kenton’s a lot like my ex, isn’t he?”

“Your mother liked your first husband. I didn’t. I’m afraid I told you that at the wrong time.”

“Yeah, the night before my wedding. Thanks, Dad.” He could see a rueful smile cross her face.

“I am so sorry. Am I doing it again?”

“Heavens, no.” She waved a dismissive hand. “This way I have time to make a change.” She smiled. “And it is a lot less expensive this way. I think, actually I know, that Mom would have liked Kenton.”

“I am sure she would. He’s good-looking, he has the impressive title, and he will make a lot of money. But, Mallory, do you want to be right? Or do you want to be loved?”

“Dad,” she said, “I want what you and Lew have—you have fun together, you have a great friendship, such an
appreciation
of each other. What’s the secret, Dad? How do I find that?”

“Take fly fishing lessons?”

Mallory laughed. “You’re right. No easy answer.”

“Sorry if I’m hard on Kenton, but you asked my opinion.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you wanted an honest answer?”

“I did. I guess the problem is me. I’m just not sure any more if I’m any good at judging people.”

Osborne said nothing. He couldn’t help her there. He was the one who had spent over thirty years married to a woman who grimaced at the sound of his voice.

“Good night, and thanks, Dad.” Mallory stood up, gave him a peck on the cheek, and opened the bedroom door.

“Good night, sweetheart … I love you.”

Too late; she was out the door, and hadn’t heard him.

The next morning after breakfast, while his guests took the dog for a walk, Osborne went downstairs to be sure there was enough toilet tissue in the bathroom that Kenton and Mallory were using. Both bedrooms were in use: Mallory had moved out of the one she had been sharing with Kenton.