Dead Jitterbug (8 page)

Less than a minute later, their boat pulled up to the U-shaped dock fronting the old estate. The dock was unlit, shadowed by white pines bordering the property, though solar-powered lanterns sunk low to the ground illuminated a stone path leading past a wooden gazebo and up across the lawn to a wide deck. A pontoon boat, moored to one side and covered with a tarp, rocked in the wake of the Alumacraft.

Lew jumped onto the dock while Osborne tied off the boat.

“Might be a good idea to stay behind me in the shadows,” said Lew, hunkering down and indicating a route along the right side of the yard that was well shadowed by shrubbery. “Until we know who’s up there …” She had her Sig Sauer out of its holster. He had a flashlight—a heavy flashlight.

Osborne followed her, hoping he wouldn’t trip on anything in the dark. A chandelier glowed low and intimate in a room opening off the left end of the deck. At the steps leading up onto the deck, Lew paused, motioning for Osborne to do the same—but there was no movement or sound from within.

“Stay here,” she said with a whisper, then slipped up onto the deck without making a sound and crossed to the nearest window. She peered in. She knocked lightly and waited. Nothing. “Looks like a porch—no sign of anyone.”

She waved him forward as she walked along the deck toward the French doors and tried the latch. Locked. She knocked on the doorframe. The lighted room was to their left, but still no sound or movement. Osborne came up behind her.

“I see someone sitting at that table, but they’re not responding to my knock,” said Lew.

“Could be they’re hard of hearing?” asked Osborne. “Hope is in her seventies.” Lew moved down the deck for a better view of the seated figure.

“Oh …” she stepped back. “Not good, Doc.”

Osborne stepped forward. Nope, no fishing tonight.

The sound of a motorboat drifted up from the lake. Lew and Osborne turned towards the sound, waiting, but it stopped before reaching the dock below. From across the water, they could hear voices, happy and relaxed.

“That’ll be Kitsy and Julia,” said Osborne. “You want me to say something?”

“Not yet. Not until we know more.”

After checking the perimeter of the house only to find every door locked, Lew stationed herself in the center of the lakeside lawn, tried her cell phone, then snapped it shut. “No signal. How far down the driveway to the road—any idea?”

“Maybe a third of a mile at the most. Once we reach the road, there’s a house right across the way,” said Osborne. “A woman friend of Ray’s lives there. Want to see if someone’s home? Use her phone? Be faster than taking my boat back.”

“Worth a try. This was dumb of me to come by boat. At least my cruiser has a radio.”

“Take it easy, Lew, you can see enough through that window—another half hour is not going to make a difference.”

A young girl came to the screen door of the homely little cabin, which couldn’t have held more than two bedrooms. The look on her face when she saw Lew in uniform with her badge and her gun was one Osborne hoped never to see in a child’s eyes again: utter terror.

“Don’t worry, hon. I just need to use your phone,” said Lew. “Is your mother home?”

After opening the screen door for them to enter, the girl backed away, speechless. “Really, don’t be afraid,” said Lew, her eyes dark with kindness. The girl was shaking. “This has nothing to do with you. Is your mom home? I’d like permission to use your telephone is all.”

“She’s … she’s at work,” the girl managed to say, then pointed to a cordless phone resting on the kitchen counter. Lew reached for it, then stepped back outside as she punched in the number for Marlene on the switchboard.

Osborne waited just inside the door. He was concerned for the girl who sat down in a chair at the nearby kitchen table. The room was worn but tidy. A boy, younger than the girl, walked in and stood behind her, his eyes wide with worry. Glancing around, Osborne saw two pairs of sneakers set neatly to one side of the refrigerator. They were wet.

“Excuse me, kids,” he said, thinking his presence was frightening the two children even more. “We’ll be gone in a minute.” He stepped outside.

Lew kept her voice low as she spoke. “Marlene, call the security office over in Rhinelander. Be sure they’ve turned off the alarm system off from their end—very likely it’s zoned. If they can’t do that, tell them I want someone out here immediately. I’ll hold while you call….” She covered the receiver while she waited.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to wait an hour for security to show up, Doc…. Oh, okay, what is it?” Lew jotted down a number on the small notepad she had pulled from her shirt pocket. “Oh, really? That’s good news.

“Will you please give Todd a call and apologize for me—but he’s going to have to come back on duty tonight. I need him out here ASAP—”

“Lew,” said Osborne.

She paused. “Hold on, Marlene—what is it, Doc?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Osborne, “but why don’t you have Todd stop by my place on his way out and pick up my instrument bag? You’re going to need an ID tonight anyway. May as well save some time. My back door is open, and if he’ll go through the kitchen to the den, he’ll find it on the shelf to the right of the door.”

“What about your dog?” asked Lew.

“Mike the friendly lab? Don’t worry about him.”

“Did you get all that, Marlene?” asked Lew. “Good. Now patch me through to Pecore, will you please?” She waited while Marlene rang the coroner at his home. Her eye caught Osborne’s: “Too much to hope for the guy to be sober, let’s hope he’s not too drunk to hold a camera.

“The good news,” she added, “is the security firm checks the house during the winter—said there’s a key to the main entrance in the garage.

“I have no idea, Irv,” said Lew, her voice testy. “Could be self-inflicted, could be homicide. How the hell would I know—I’m looking through a goddam window. Now listen to me—I need you and your camera out here
now.”

Listening, she screwed her face in anger. “Irv, what do you think you’re paid for? You can tape the damn game.” She took a deep breath. “Yes, please. Alert the ambulance crew we’ll need transport later, but I’ll call when we’re ready. Got that? Thank you.”

“Oh, that man,” she said, hanging up. “Tried to tell me he had to finish watching a hockey game on ESPN. Of course, he’s been drinking. I tell you, Doc, I want to be elected sheriff if only because four deputy medical examiners come with the county—so guess who I won’t have to use.”

“Yeah, but pity the poor guy who takes your place, Lew.”

The position of Loon Lake coroner is an appointed one. Irv Pecore, purporting to having been schooled as a pathologist, had managed to parlay family connections to the mayor’s office into thirty-some years of salaried incompetence, years during which he demonstrated a knack for mangling the chain of custody for evidence in dozens of cases.

Lazy and disorganized under previous heads of the Loon Lake Police Department, he balked at Lew’s efforts to clean up the coroner’s office. Her first mission had been to put a lid on his longtime habit of letting his golden retrievers wander through the autopsy room while he was working. No one else had managed to do it. True, the number of autopsies had dropped as the cost rose but, even so, bereaved relatives should not have to worry about inappropriate canine attention to their dearly departed.

That wasn’t the worst of it, however. Just two months earlier, while searching for the evidence needed for a case going to trial, Lew had unearthed a cardboard box containing unidentified skeletal remains. That was on the heels of discovering that for years Pecore had stored his records in unlocked rooms and hallways where family, friends, and funeral directors, not to mention dogs, had wandered freely.

From Lew’s perspective, Irv Pecore’s very presence was a hazard to a successful investigation.

thirteen

She was used to take delight, with her fair hand To angle in the Nile, where the glad fish, As if they knew who ‘twas sought to deceive them, Contended to be taken.

—Plutarch (describing Cleopatra)

“If
that poor soul with half their head missing is who we think it is,” said Lew, as they headed back toward the long driveway, “this is going to be a long night.”

“Say, look at the size of this mailbox,” said Osborne, stopping and running his flashlight up and down. “Sorry to interrupt, Lew—but I’ve never seen a private box so big.” Dark green and big enough to hold good-sized packages, the metal container was planted in cement across the road from the gated entrance to the estate.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Hope Kelly has worked summers from here for years,” said Osborne. “During an office visit years ago, she explained how she does it. Her staff in Madison culls letters from the thousands she gets every week—and sends them up here. She picks the ones she wants to answer in her column, writes the column, and sends it on to her editor at a newspaper syndicate. Eighty million readers, they say—pretty amazing it all comes down to just one person living on a lake in the boondocks.”

“Yeah, well—could be eighty million disappointed people tomorrow. How long would you say she’s been doing this?”

“Thirty-some years, maybe longer.
Time
put her on their cover for her twenty-fifth anniversary, even mentioned that Loon Lake was her favorite place to write. The Chamber of Commerce used that quote for years. Never read the column myself—but Mary Lee was a big fan of “Ask Hope.” I think it’s a woman’s thing. Do you read her, Lew?”

“I used to. Years ago. Used to be the letters were interesting, and her responses could be quippy—perceptive, funny, and good. As if she really cared. Then something changed, the column struck me as dreary. Or maybe I changed—have enough of people’s problems to deal with in this job without reading about more.”

On their way out to find a phone, they were able to open the entrance gate from the back, making sure to leave it open for their return. As they crossed the road to walk back through, Lew borrowed the flashlight. She bent to examine the lock. “Doesn’t appear forced.” She ran the beam up, across the top, and off to the right and to the left. The estate was walled in with brick and iron.

“Now that is one expensive fence … hand-forged, I’ll bet,” said Lew, admiring the delicate design running along the top of the wrought-iron grating. “So we have an enclosed property with a locked gate. Looks pretty darn secure from this side, doesn’t it.” “You can always enter off the lake,” said Osborne.

“True.”

They walked along in silence. He caught a glimpse of her face in the moonlight. “What are you thinking?”

“That a national magazine printed the fact that she lives here. That she writes a column dealing with strong emotions and the mistakes people make. That maybe she wrote one that upset a reader—or a reader’s ex-husband or wife. This is a long and lonely road, Doc. I can’t wait to see just how good the security is on this place.”

They continued down the drive. Only the hooting of an owl high overhead broke the silence. “This is going to be so high profile, Doc, whether it’s murder or suicide—that I don’t dare have Pecore do anything except shoot the scene and sign the death certificate. The minute Todd gets here, I’ll radio the crime lab in Wausau.”

“National news media will be all over this, Lew.”

“You better believe it—the news media, the governor, no doubt a huge funeral or memorial service. Wouldn’t be surprised if the president comes—or sends his wife. I may need you for help with more than the ID, Doc. Ray, too, if he’s got the time.”

“Whatever you need, kiddo,” said Osborne, laying a hand on her shoulder, his heart lifting. He had to be the only man in Loon Lake for whom death under suspect circumstances was a good thing. It meant an excuse to spend time around his favorite fishing partner. During such times, she had one bad habit that he loved: the more stressed she was, the more likely to sneak away for an hour or two in the trout stream.

“Something about those two kids concerns me,” said Lew. “They were so scared.” “You’d think they’d never seen a police officer before,” said Osborne. “I’ll ask Ray. He dates their mother off and on.”

“Do that. Now tell me again, Doc—the Kellys’ daughter lives in Madison but owns that big log home and happens to be here in Loon Lake. So I can reach her easily. Wonder where I’ll find the rest of the family? There is a husband, right?”

“Yep, Ed. They had a son, but he drowned years ago. I believe Kitsy is their only child.”

“And she’s about how old?”

“Mid-thirties, maybe? I can check my files and tell you exactly.”

Following the directions from the security firm, Lew was able to locate the alarm control box in the garage, right next to a metal unit housing circuit breakers for the entire property. The digital readout indicated that all the zones were disarmed.

“Very high-tech system they got, Doc,” said Lew, picking up a clay pot resting on a shelf with gardening tools. The key was underneath.

It took thirty minutes for Todd Doucette, the younger of Lew’s two full-time deputies, to arrive. Pecore followed five minutes later. By that time, all that was needed were photos, a signature, and help from the Wausau boys.

Much as Lew hated to deal with the crime lab supervisor, an old-timer who did not believe women should serve in the military or in law enforcement, tonight she was relieved to find him still in the office.

“No question who the victim is,” she said. “I have Dr. Paul Osborne here, and he used to be her dentist. He’s able to identify the body and sign off on an official dental ID.

“But this is so high profile, Gordon, we need your staff’s expertise. You know the family will be demanding the FBI, the CIA, the NSA—you name it. You’ll want to put some thought into who should be your spokesperson on this, Gordon. I’m sure your team will be on national news.” Lew’s dark brown eyes smiled at Osborne as she spoke. She was no dummy.

“Oh?” She paused for his response, then said, “Not a problem, Gordon. Fair is fair. If you can have a team here early tomorrow morning—that is the least I can do for you. How much time do I have? Okay, I’ll send someone around starting tomorrow. And, Gordon—thank you very much.”