Dead Water (27 page)

Osborne relaxed slightly. This was sounding a little more controlled than it had appeared at first. Still, it bothered him. The fact remained that Zenner’s name was on a lot of guns. And it was the high-powered rifles more than the shotguns that made him wonder.

“So, Doc,” continued Ray persuasively, “all we’re really doing is letting Nick skip a couple hours of school, help out on a computer project, and try to get his friend to talk about his hunting—”

“Cut the crap, Ray,” said Osborne. “We’re still talking a hell of a risk here. On the one hand what you say makes perfect sense, but you’re assuming Zenner is innocent. What if the boy is a nut? A maniac? We don’t know that he didn’t murder those two women. And not knowing anything for sure, we are putting Nick at risk.” Osborne looked hard at the one man he would trust with his own life. “Ray, you really think this is wise?”

“He’s not a killer,” said Nick. “I know he’s not.”

“You’ve only known Zenner for a couple of days, Nick,” said Osborne, exasperated. “And you’re a city kid. You have no idea—”

“I’m with Nick,” Ray jumped in. “Zenner’s innocent. I can tell by looking the kid in the eye, Doc. He’s not a killer. He might be a little weird, but he’s not full of hate, he’s not twisted. Nick would have spotted that in the first five minutes. He’s a city kid, all right.” Ray pounded his hand heartily on Nick’s right shoulder. “This boy’s got street smarts.” Nick sat up a little straighter.

Osborne let his eyes rest on the two men. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what was at stake here.

“You win.” Osborne threw up his hands. “But the only reason I’m agreeing is because I know Lew is swamped. Too much has happened in the last couple days, and I know she needs all the help she can get. Even so, I’ll agree on one condition: Nick gets only two hours with Zenner, and we
must
tell Lew everything by noon today.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Ray. “All I’m asking is that Nick has a chance to talk to Zenner first.”

thirty

Inspired by the beauty of trout, Franz Schubert composed the “Trout Quintet.”

The
parking lot at the new jail was clogged with vehicles of all sizes. Taking up at least six parking spaces were two trailers whose equipment and cables were strewn every which way. After five minutes of circling the lot in Ray’s truck, they decided to park half on the lawn and risk a ticket. Otherwise, they would have to park over a block away.

“More construction?” said Ray. Closer inspection showed the two trailers belonged to television crews from out of town. “Oho,” said Ray. “In that case …” He paused to look in the side mirror of his truck. Carefully, he set his fish hat on his head, then tipped it ever so slightly to the left, giving it a particularly jaunty angle. He saw the look Osborne gave him. “Hey, you never know, Doc. Letterman has to retire someday.”

Striding through the automatic doors into the anteroom for the county offices, they were brought to a complete halt by the crowd in the lobby. The place was packed with people Osborne had never seen before. They all looked to be about Erin’s age, around thirty or so. Osborne and Ray pushed their way through to the glass panel in front of the receptionist’s desk. Recognizing them with a frantic smile, she buzzed open the door that led to the police department.

Lew’s office was down at the end of the hall. Another cluster of young adults was milling right in front of her door, their video cameras, lights, and cables festooning the hallway. Osborne and Ray ducked into a room off to their right, where Lucy sat at the switchboard.

She was a hefty woman, the type who always ordered more at the all-you-can-eat fish fry. Shoulder-length auburn curls framed her generous cheeks and added to a general effect of impressive size. But big as she was, her heart was bigger. It took a lot to upset Lucy. Nor did she make many mistakes. For as much grief as she had caused the night before, Osborne knew it would be hard for Lew to stay angry at such a good-hearted, energetic soul who could balance a steady stream of incoming complaints with consummate ease.

And she thrived on social contact, which was reflected in the impish twinkle to her eye and her own admission that she was an inveterate busybody, the reason she gave for refusing to retire: “The day I stop talking is the day I die.” The bustle of this particular morning suited her just fine. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes happy.

“Dateline
is here,” she announced on spotting Osborne and Ray. She shoved the headphone off one ear.
“And CBS Evening News.
Do you believe it? They all flew into Wausau this morning. Got those vans from Channel Nine. Ray, that woman you were guiding? Her dead boyfriend was some big time builder from Chicago … real famous and rich. When Dick Richards over at the paper called the news in to AP last night, the newspapers and television reporters started calling here. They even called Lew at home … five o’clock this morning!”

“Lucy, you owe me an apology,” said Ray gently.

Lucy dropped her eyes. “Yes, I do. I am so sorry, Ray. I completely forgot to leave the number where Lew could be reached. She gave it to me; it was my fault. You would never have been incarcerated if they had been able to reach her. I know, and I apologize. Chief Ferris sent Roger over to the
Loon Lake News
first thing this morning to be sure you won’t be listed in the daily police report.” She raised her eyebrows, obviously hoping the lack of press would offset the insult. “She told him he was fired if he didn’t stop that at least. That man is on a real short leash right now, doncha know.”

“He better be,” said Osborne, still irritated with Roger’s performance.

“Oops! Got a call.” Lucy’s eyes widened as her switchboard lit up. “Oh, gosh, excuse me. I guess you two need to see the chief?”

“Just checking in,” said Osborne. “She’s expecting us—”

“I don’t know, Doc, the TV people are setting up to tape her, but let me call back there and see what the story is.”

Lucy rang Lew’s office. “Chief, Doc and Ray are here…. Sure, okay.” Lucy waved them down the hall. “Excuse me….” Lucy took a moment to concentrate on one call coming in and another going out. Then she shoved the headphone off one ear again. “I’m sorry. Chief’s been trying to reach that Gina person. I keep redialing but no answer. You two go on in.”

Lew was on the phone when Ray and Osborne were finally able to push through the crowd outside her door and slip into her office. One TV crew was wrapping while another set up. Lew motioned for Ray and Osborne to come in and sit down.

“People, people,” she said to a group of three, one woman and two cameramen, who appeared to be doing their best to move around every piece of furniture in her office. “You will just have to wait a few more minutes. I run a police department here, and right now I have a meeting that has to take place.”

“But we have a deadline to meet for the five o’clock news,” said the woman, not a little belligerent. Skinny in tight black jeans and square-faced under a black baseball cap crammed over straight blond hair, she tried to wave Osborne and Ray away with the clipboard in her hand. Her eyes went to Ray’s head. “Wait—” She thrust her face at him. “Hey, you’re Ray Pradt. I need you next.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You were there, just before they were shot, right? We need to do an interview. Do you always wear that hat? Were you wearing it yesterday? This is great. God, you’ll be great B-roll.” She stepped back to gaze at Ray’s full six feet five inches in amazement. Osborne couldn’t get over it; the woman talked faster than Gina.

“Ray, shut that door,” said Lew from her desk. Her voice was loud and firm and had absolutely no effect on the blond now blocking the doorway with her hips and shoulders.

“This afternoon, okay?” said Ray, obviously flattered. “Can’t do it right now.” He pushed the door against the woman’s body. As Lew rose threateningly from her chair, the producer got the message and stepped back. The door shut with a slam, and Lew sat down heavily. She looked like she hadn’t had much sleep either.

“I’ve been trying Gina at the motel. She isn’t answering. I don’t know if she’s sleeping in or if she’s out for breakfast somewhere. The front desk said her car is still there—”

“I’ll bet she’s out with that real estate broker,” said Osborne. “He would have picked her up, y’know.”

“I figured that. I tried calling the realty office, but no one’s answering. Must be the monthly Kiwanis breakfast. But this package came for her this morning, and I’m anxious to see what we got.”

“Go ahead and open it,” said Osborne. “She got it for
you,
didn’t she?”

“O-o-h, I hate to do that,” said Lew. “Common courtesy means I should wait for her to open her own Federal Express package. But it is from her newspaper, and I’ll bet you anything, it’s photos of that Michael Winston.” Lew picked up the large, flat envelope and tapped it on her desk as if considering ripping it open right then. “Oh heck.” She set it back down. “I have that damn taping. If Gina isn’t here by the time that’s finished, I’ll go ahead and open this.”

Just then the phone rang and Lew picked it up. “Oh, okay, Lucy, put her through.” She listened for a minute or two, then said, “Excuse me, before you go any further, let me say something. I have two deputies here in my office, and I’d like to put you on speakerphone so they can hear, too. Also, I want to switch this call onto a line that will be taped. Do you have a problem with that?”

The caller seemed to have no problems with either request. Lew put the call on hold and notified Lucy that she wanted one of the emergency lines that automatically tape incoming calls.

Lew covered the mouth of the receiver. “This is Gina’s source from NASD. She can’t reach her either and wants to leave a message for her with me. It sounds very interesting.”

“Good morning.” A woman’s voice suddenly filled the room. “I’m Nora Daniels with the NASD.”

“Good morning,” said Ray and Osborne together.

“I got Gina Palmer’s message yesterday,” she continued. “I have some information for her, but since I’ll be in meetings all day today, I hope you don’t mind if we talk instead.”

“Not at all,” said Lew.

“I had my assistant touch base with our surveillance team for your region late yesterday afternoon,” she said. “They examined any activity of note between Detroit and Minneapolis and from Quebec down to Chicago, the grid that includes your region.

“They saw no evidence of penny stock activity per se, but something else did crop up. A situation they have been monitoring for a while. Someone in your area has been spoofing stocks at irregular intervals over the last three months. The activity is coming from a series of different phone numbers, all within a hundred fifty-mile radius of Rhinelander, Wisconsin, which, I believe, includes your community.”

“That’s correct,” said Lew.

“Late last night—and this may not be the first time it happened but it’s the first time we caught it—a series of electronic money transfers were made to a Canadian financial institution. We have not been able to track the transfers beyond that point. We’re waiting on cooperation from the Canadian authorities, which may or may not be forthcoming. Because Canada is notoriously lax on monitoring this type of activity, I won’t be surprised to see more balances leave the continent before we can take action.

“We are also frustrated by the fact that our techs have not been able to track the source of the transfers. Whoever designed the operation knows how to work the Internet in such a way that the originating sites leave no electronic footprints. At least, none we’ve been able to track yet. We will find it eventually, but it may take another twelve to twenty-four hours. At least we’re onto it, thanks to Gina. The amounts are so small that we might never have flagged the transfers if she hadn’t asked us to run an electronic sweep.”

“So it’s not that much money?” asked Lew.

“Well, each transfer is just under ten thousand dollars,” said Daniels. “But the transfers are occurring every two minutes from different accounts. It adds up. The same process may be repeated from Canada to wherever the money is going. Again, we aren’t likely to have caught this for another few months even, certainly not before enough money would have been moved to make someone very happy. Happy and tax-free, which is my concern.”

“What’s spoofing?” asked Osborne. “I’ve never heard that term.”

“Spoofing is a manipulation of stock prices by a trader who places sizable orders to buy at a high price on electronic trading systems, then withdraws them seconds later. This lures on-line traders who think they have spotted a buying wave and can sell at a high. However, by the time they do that, our spoofer has already withdrawn the high bid and is selling. The shares will soon fall.

“Spoofing is a serious problem these days, because the high-speed electronic networks make it easy for a pretender to place orders anonymously and cancel immediately with no consequences. It used to be, in the days before on-line trading, that you had to keep your bids and offers available for at least ten seconds. Spoofing is not illegal, by the way. At least not yet.

“We’re putting legislation into place soon that will curb this activity, but, please understand, whoever is doing this is not liable for prosecution.”

“But you think the spoofing and the money transfers are linked?” asked Lew.

“That’s what I have to thank Gina for,” said Daniels. “She told me there are a limited number of servers in your region, and she asked me to see if our computers could pick up any patterns. The spoofing and the transfers are moving through the same server.”

“Any other identifiers?” asked Lew.

“Like I said, we’re working on it. Same old story: We’re understaffed, and we’ve got our hands full with this type of activity.”

“What can we do to help out?” asked Lew.

“Not much. The ball’s in our court. If you will share this information with Gina, I would appreciate it. Tell her I’ll try to reach her this evening.”

“Certainly,” said Lew. She hung up, then buzzed Lucy. “Any word from Gina?”