Dead Tease (12 page)

“Quite the setup, you have here,” said Lew. “I don’t see many shore stations this fancy. All you have to do is flip that switch and the shore station automatically raises or lowers the boat, right?”

“My husband’s a gear head. Anything you can power up, he has to have. Boats, cars, a motorcycle. Hard to get him to just stay home and take life easy.” Leigh sighed.

Lew smiled in understanding. An aura of sadness around the woman gave her the urge to do or say something that might make her feel better.

“You know, Leigh,” said Lew after a long pause during which she studied the rowboat and the stain on the floor of the little craft, “I could be wrong about your rowboat. Even though I have seen animals accomplish amazing feats, I’ll ask one of the deputies you just met to check this out, too.

“Ray Pradt is an expert on animal behavior—and he has two dogs of his own. Big dogs. Yellow Labs. If anyone knows the damage dog excrement can do, it’ll be Ray. That aside, he’s a skilled tracker who insists he can tell the size and age of an animal from its scat. You didn’t happen to keep a sample of what you found in the boat, did you?”

“Sorry,” said Leigh. “I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Is Ray the taller of those two guys? The real good-looking one?”

“Yep, that’s Ray,” said Lew with a grin. Turning away from Leigh, she rolled her eyes: Ray and women. Some things never change.

As they left the boathouse, Lew spotted Ray and Bruce up on the patio, both men on their knees near the broken window.

“Ray? Bruce?” At the sound of her voice they got to their feet and turned toward her.

The two men could not appear less likely to be a working pair.

Ray was a rangy six feet five inches tall and very tan with bare knees exposed beneath a pair of wrinkled khaki shorts. He wore a baggy white T-shirt with the words “Severe Fishing Disorder” stenciled in black and readable from miles away.

His hair—in grave need of a trim and hostage to the August humidity—was an explosion of dark brown ringlets capable of hiding a covey of grouse. A thirty-two-year-old stuck in his teens.

The other guy, Bruce Peters of the Wausau Crime Lab, appeared the consummate professional in pressed gray Dockers and a muted green and tan checked shirt. A disciplined crew cut and a matching black mustache completed the picture.

But while Bruce had proved to be an experienced, diligent forensic scientist, Lew knew from experience that he shared a few too many characteristics with Ray: a love for the outdoors and fishing—and an irreverent sense of humor. Kids at heart, those two.

Granted she had criminal cases to solve—cases that benefited from their skills—Lew was well aware her real challenge was managing those two razzbonyas.

“Chief,” said Bruce, dusting his hands as he walked up, “we’ve bagged shards of glass and other evidence that may be helpful. I will arrange for DNA testing on the bloodstains and run the results against our state and national databases but it may take a week or more.”

“I figured as much,” said Lew, “are you driving back to Wausau tonight?”

Bruce threw a glance at Ray and Lew detected a smothered grin. “Oh, no,” said Bruce, his eyes so serious she knew something was up. “I’m going to camp out here over the weekend. That stolen pickup will take some work, then I need to search the home and office of your victim. I’d like to be here when the pathologist report comes in, too. Never know what might be needed.”

“Bruce, my budget—” Lew started to protest.

“He can stay at my place,” said Ray. “No charge.”

“That’s dangerous,” said Lew. She gave Bruce the dim eye. “Are you sure?”

But bushy eyebrows bounced happily as Bruce said, “Oh yeah. I’m gonna check out Ray’s new fishing kayak while I’m here.
And, Chief, I won’t charge overtime for my work on Saturday and Sunday….”

Lew gave a cautious nod. “All right, then. But right now let’s talk about the situation here.” The two men glanced at each other, pleased. Shoulders back, they prepared to listen.

“Mr. McNeil and his wife are quite concerned that the intruder may return. They think the individual has trespassed here on several occasions previously.” Lew detailed the instances that Leigh had described earlier. “Ray, did you find any sign of where or how they may have approached the property—recently or earlier?”

“Nope,” said Ray. “There was a lawn crew here this morning and with no rain the last few days—not much for me to work with.”

“I see,” said Lew. “Several weeks ago someone may have broken into their boathouse, too.”

Lew turned to Leigh who was standing nearby. “Tell Ray your concern over the rowboat, would you?”

Leigh perked up and described in detail her theory that someone had deliberately allowed a dog to desecrate her precious antique boat.

“So if you two would check out the boathouse before you leave here this evening,” said Lew, “that would be helpful. Oh, and one more thought, Ray—what are you doing with those webcams of yours?”

“Nothing, why?”

“The security system here is being upgraded but they won’t have security cameras in place for a while. How difficult would it be for you to rig your webcams so Jim and Leigh can see the exterior of their house from indoors?”

“Wait a minute,” said McNeil who had walked onto the patio moments earlier and heard Lew’s question. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“Jim—” said Leigh, turning a threatening eye on her husband.

“Eh,” said Ray with a shrug, “I’m not using the darn things until deer season. Takes five minutes to set the cameras up, and the monitor is wireless. All you do is turn it on and you get a split screen with views from both cameras. Records great in low light by the way. I use it to check nocturnal visitors to my deer stand.”

“Like bears?” said Leigh with a shiver of delight. Lew couldn’t believe how the woman had perked up.

“Bears, fishers, fox, ’coons, porcupines—all my buddies,” said Ray. “Better ’n
Letterman
some nights.

“I have the whole shebang set to record a forty-eight-hour loop, then erase and start over. You can watch in real time or fast-forward whenever you want. Fifty bucks sound okay to you?”

“Yes,” said Leigh, not waiting for a response from her husband. “But how soon can you set it up?”

“After Bruce and I finish here, I’ll drive back to my place and get all the parts. Should be able to set it up tonight. Be good to test the video in the dark—make sure you can see everything okay.”

“Ohmygosh, that is just great,” said Leigh with so much enthusiasm that even Ray was taken aback. Only McNeil had a skeptical expression on his face.

“Did you say you hunt deer?” asked Leigh.

Ray looked around at Bruce and Lew: “Is this northern Wisconsin?”

“I have a question for you then,” said Leigh. “When I was twelve my grandfather taught me how to shoot a twenty-two-caliber pistol but I haven’t shot a gun since. Jim keeps a shotgun in the house but I’ve never shot one. I think I’d feel better if I knew how to handle that gun.”

Oh dear
, thought Lew.

“I’ll take you to the shooting range if you’d like,” said Ray.

“I would
love
that.”

Back in her squad car, Lew radioed in to the station. “Todd,” she said on reaching the night deputy on duty, “I’m on my way in and I’d like you to help me bring Alvin Marski in for questioning on that stolen pickup and—”

Todd interrupted before she could finish. “Chief, I made a few calls. Roger told me you were hoping to do this but it’s not going to be all that easy. Alvin’s mother is my wife’s mother’s cousin. We happen to know Alvin’s mother kicked him out last spring. He was stealing her prescription drugs.

“I just got off the phone with Jerry Anderson, his probation officer, who said he didn’t show up for his weekly appointment this morning. Jerry made some calls during the day but no sign of the guy. He figures he’s on his way to Michigan. The Canadian border is so tight these days, we’re pretty sure he won’t risk that.”

“Okay,” said Lew. “Can you take care of putting out an APB on the guy?”

“Already did,” said Todd. “Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“I’m not,” said Lew. “It’s been a long day. I’m going fishing.”

Chapter Seventeen

Osborne knew better than to try reaching Mallory before six so he busied himself making dinner for the kids and, hopefully, Lew. A large Ziploc bag of chili from the freezer and fresh corn on the cob with a soft stick of butter and slices of delicious cheesy bread from the Loon Lake Market? Yep, that should do it.

By the time he had finished husking the corn, setting the table, and putting the bag of chili in hot water to thaw—the cuckoo clock chimed six.

Surely Mallory would be home by now, he thought as he wiped his hands on a tea towel. On the other hand, even though they had short summer hours at the ad agency where she was a vice president of marketing, he knew she liked to stop by her gym for a workout. Hopefully not today. If he took Beth, Harry, and Lew out on the boat, they might get back too late to call.

It wasn’t reasonable but he felt an urgency to get Mallory’s input. His abhorrence of Gladys and Cynthia Daniels was pushing him to be more critical than he knew was fair. While he knew Mallory carried a cell phone, this was one conversation he wished to have when she could talk without worry of being overheard.

He dialed her home number. To his relief, after two rings she answered. “Hi, Hon, do you have a minute?” he asked.

“Dad? How are you? What’s up? Is this a good call or a bad call?” Mallory rattled off the questions, a hint of caution in her voice. Osborne knew she hoped he wasn’t calling with bad news about anyone: himself or Erin, Mark, and any of his grandchildren. Though the sisters got along, they didn’t talk often on the phone. Nor did Osborne and Mallory chat more than once a month.

“Research, kiddo. I’m helping Lew out with a sad situation up here. A young woman was found stabbed to death late yesterday afternoon. Jennifer Williams. Did you ever know her?”

“I’ve known of her but, gosh, Dad, she’s ten years younger than I am. Erin might know her better. One of my high school friends used to babysit for her if that would help. Doesn’t her mother work at the Loon Lake Market?”

“That’s the family. But I’m not calling about Jennifer so much as some of the people who knew her. Jennifer had been running the graphics department at the new clinic where Cynthia Daniels is a trauma physician in the emergency unit. Cynthia is one of the people I’m calling about.”

“Right, my best friend. Dad, if there is anyone I avoid with a passion it is Cynthia Daniels. All I know is she somehow managed to get into medical school years ago. Probably slept with the admissions director. So what does she have to do with Jennifer Williams?”

“Well, for one thing they didn’t get along—”

“What else is new? Cynthia is all about guys. She is not a ‘girl’s girl’ if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Osborne and grinned into the phone. Once he and Mallory had made their peace after Mary Lee died—finding their way to a friendship that had eluded both while Mallory was growing up—Osborne found her acerbic take on human beings (who deserved it) entertaining and perceptive.

“Remember, Dad, because she was in boarding school I only saw her summers but we sort of hung with the same crowd. When it came to any of us girls, Cynthia had such a nasty edge to her. She would make cutting remarks about your clothes or your figure or your hair—and always in front of the boys, of course.”

“Competitive?”

“To put it mildly. But what amazed me was her behavior toward boys. She was s-o-o-o promiscuous. And boys liked her. At eighteen, who doesn’t want to get laid, you know?

“The last summer that I saw her, which was after our freshman year in college, she went after this one guy, Greg Cooke, who was a camp counselor at Camp Chippewa. He wanted nothing to do with her. He told me that. In fact, I was dating him that summer—”

“You were dating a boy that Cynthia was interested in?”

“‘Interested’ is putting it mildly. She was obsessed. She stalked Greg. One night, she drove down a back road into the camp, waited in the woods until he came out and got into a car with a friend. She followed them into town and into the bars, hanging on him even though he asked her to leave him alone. Several times she did that. Creepy.

“That fall, when he was back at the University of Wisconsin, she showed up at his frat house one night. Same routine. I remember he called me totally freaked out.”

“How long did Cynthia keep that up? With Greg?”

“About six months. He and I stayed in touch for a while so I know he knew she was lurking around. But he played it cool, didn’t respond to her, and the stalking died off eventually. You know, Dad, I haven’t talked to Greg in years. Want me to Google him and see if he’s around? He was a nice guy. I’d love to know how his life has turned out.”

“Sure, if you’re comfortable with that. But you’ve told me enough to give me some perspective on the woman.”

“Dad, I feel bad saying so many negative things about Cynthia. I’m sure she’s matured and isn’t so crazy anymore. After all, I’ve had my demons, too. You know that.”

Yes, he did. And yet, oddly enough, it was through her struggle with alcoholism that he had grown to love her. Or maybe it was the shared struggle that made the difference for both of them. Today, Mallory was a person less perfect than what her mother had wanted. More like him. And he cared for her more deeply than he ever had in her youth.

“Does any of what I’ve just said help with the investigation, Dad?”

“It does, and the other reason I’m calling is Gladys. The old lady.”

“C’mon, Dad, are you trying to ruin my day?”

Osborne chuckled. “No. But here is what’s bothering me: Gladys Daniels alleges she saw the man who killed Jennifer Williams. She says she was walking her dog near the condos where Jennifer lived and claims to have witnessed the assault.”

“Wow,” said Mallory. “Could she see who it was?”

“So she says—and that’s just it,” said Osborne, heaving a sigh as he said, “I’m having a hard time believing her. This afternoon Lew and I spent over an hour questioning that woman.”