Heart of Ice (16 page)

Louis stared at a deer skull on a shelf. The question pressed forward again. Was Julie Chapman’s skull in here somewhere?

The radio in Louis’s jeans pocket crackled with traffic. One officer stating that a TV reporter and cameraman had just gotten off the ferry. Another officer asking for help on erecting barricades. Barbara the dispatcher telling Clark that the mayor wanted to see him immediately, and Clark telling her he was too busy.

Suddenly a new voice cut in.

“Sergeant Clark, this is Rafsky. I just hit the island. Meet me at the hospital.”

“No need, no news yet,” Clark answered.

“Then I’ll come to the station.”

Louis quickly keyed the radio. “Kincaid to Rafsky. I could use you at Dancer’s cabin.”

“Negative, I’m heading to the station.”

“Detective, I repeat. You need to meet me here at the cabin.”

There was a long pause from Rafsky, and Louis knew he had figured out Louis didn’t want to go public. Then, “I’ll be there in ten minutes, Kincaid.”

Louis stuck the radio back in his pocket. An interior door opened, releasing more of the putrid smell. Pike
came out of the room and pulled off a mask. He looked pale and disoriented.

“Did you find anything?” Louis asked.

“Oh yeah,” Pike said softly.

“A human skull?”

Pike wiped a hand over his sweating brow. “No, but I think you’d better come see this.”

Louis followed him into the room. The smell grew stronger. It wasn’t quite the sweet-sour smell of decomposition he was used to. It was something stronger and more vile—dense and wet like vomit—an odor that seemed to wrap itself around him. He stopped just inside the door. He felt his stomach heave and had to go back out into the main room. He retched, but he hadn’t eaten all day, so nothing came up. Finally he drew in a deep breath, covered his nose and mouth with his hand, and went back in.

Pike was standing at a table that held four large plastic bins, like the kind sold at Wal-Mart to store winter clothes. But as Louis drew closer to the nearest bin he saw that something inside it was moving.

Pike removed one of the plastic tops and Louis peered inside.

Oh God.

He pulled back, repulsed. Then he forced himself to look again into the bin. Inside was a huge animal head—but he couldn’t tell what kind of animal because most of its skin was gone. It was covered in thousands of squirming black wormlike things.

“What the fuck is that?” Louis said.

“I’m guessing that’s a deer skull under there.” Pike gestured
to three other plastic bins. “There are others. Nothing human.”

The smell was making Louis sick. He motioned to Pike to follow him out into the main room of the cabin. They shut the door. The smell was still bad, so Louis went onto the porch and pulled in several deep breaths of clean, cold air. Pike came up to his side and did the same.

“What the hell is going on in there?” Louis asked.

Pike shook his head slowly. “I think your man Dancer is using bug larvae to clean skulls.”

“What?”

“If you want to clean bones you can boil them, but the fat can make the bones turn yellow,” Pike said. “And you can’t use bleach because it weakens the bones. So you get bugs to eat the flesh away. You’d need to ask an entomologist, but I’m guessing those are dermestid beetle larvae. There’s an aquarium full of adult beetles. It looks like Dancer is raising them. He’s got Tupperware bowls filled with raw meat to feed them and a heating pad under the aquarium to keep them nice and warm.”

Louis shook his head slowly. “But why?”

Pike reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, holding them out to Louis. “That’s your department.”

Pike put his mask back on and returned to the room. Louis waited a moment before he ventured back into the cabin. The smell was everywhere, like a swirling mist. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

It was too big a coincidence that Dancer collected skulls and Julie Chapman’s was missing. He had to search not
only for her skull but also for any evidence that she might have been here.

His eyes traveled over the kitchenette, the black potbellied stove, the rough-hewn pine table and chair, the old sofa covered with a plaid blanket, and the small bed tucked in the corner. Despite the grotesque displays of skulls and the smell, the cabin was clean and neat.

Louis pulled on the latex gloves and went to a desk by the window. There was a shelf of books above it, but a quick scan of the titles told him there was nothing odd. A second shelf held what looked to be a collection of sketchbooks. Louis pulled one down and flipped through it.

Drawings . . . it was filled with drawings of horses, carriages, figures, and places around the island. The style was childish and cheerful. He put the sketchbook back and opened another. More drawings, mostly portraits, but the style was assured and carefully detailed. There were many drawings of an old woman with wild hair and a weathered face. Others looked to be workers and shopkeepers on the island, a man wearing a ferry boat captain’s hat, a lady in a waitress uniform, a cop on a bike.

Louis slipped the sketchbook back among the others on the shelf. There had to be at least forty sketchbooks here. Had Dancer done them? Where had he learned to do this?

He turned his attention to the desk. It held a coffee can of pencils and pens, a box of manila envelopes, and a neat stack of papers. There was a file cabinet tucked next to the desk. Louis opened the top drawer. It was crammed with more sketchbooks.

He closed the drawer and turned to the pile of papers on the desk. Bills mostly, all carefully marked
PAID
. He focused
on a catalog. It was from a company in Wyoming called Skullduggery: “The World’s Leading Supplier of Osteological Specimens.”

Louis flipped through it. It featured every kind of animal skull imaginable for sale—dogs, cats, birds, cattle. There were also human skulls for sale with the disclaimer “Due to stringent regulations, these specimens are only available to medical or educational academic institutions.”

Stuck inside the catalog was an invoice from a company in Alaska called Wild Things. It was for one
COLONY STARTER KIT
. For forty-five dollars and ten dollars handling, Danny Dancer had bought “an assortment of two hundred live adult beetles, larvae, and pupae.”

There was a second invoice. It was hand-printed on lined school paper. At the top was Dancer’s address. It was made out to a Los Angeles company called Architectural Accents. It was for one
DEER SKULL (ANTLERED, LARGE)
at a price of three hundred and forty dollars.

“Kincaid.”

Louis turned. Rafsky was standing at the open front door. His eyes swept slowly over the skulls and finally came back to Louis.

“Jesus,” Rafsky said.

Louis held out the invoice. “Dancer is running some kind of business selling skulls.”

Rafsky came forward and gave the invoice a glance before his eyes went back to scanning the room.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Rafsky asked.

“Rotting animal heads. He’s got a skull-cleaning setup in the other room. They haven’t found any human skulls yet.”

Rafsky let out a long breath. “Now I see why you didn’t say anything on the radio.”

Louis pulled off the latex gloves. “I need some air.”

They went out onto the porch. For a long time the only sound was the rush of wind through the pines and the soft babble from the police radio in Louis’s back pocket.

“Any word on Flowers?” Rafsky asked finally.

“None. Clark said he’d call if there was any change.”

Rafsky fell quiet again. His trench coat was wrinkled, and his face had a dark growth of stubble. The guy looked spent, and Louis suspected it wasn’t just from the fast drive back from Marquette. He wondered if Rafsky was remembering the last scene in Flowers’s office and how he had insulted both of them.

Pike appeared at the door. His mask was hanging around his neck, and he was wiping his eyes. “I need better equipment,” he muttered.

“What did you find?” Rafsky asked.

“Okay, this is only preliminary, but I didn’t find any human skulls or bones anywhere in the cabin,” Pike said.

“What about an attic?” Rafsky asked.

“No attic.”

“Crawl space?”

Pike nodded to the other tech, now out in the yard taking photographs. “Sam checked it out. Solid concrete foundation.”

Rafsky looked out over the woods. “Then he buried it out here in his yard somewhere.”

“It’s not his yard, Detective,” Pike said. “It’s all state land. You going to dig up the whole damn island?”

“I am in charge here now. We’ll dig wherever I say we’ll dig.”

Pike shook his head. “I hope you have a lot of troopers and a lot of fucking shovels.”

“Look, I suggest you get your ass back in that cabin and find something to connect this bastard to Julie Chapman,” Rafsky said.

Pike looked like he wanted to punch Rafsky, and Louis started to step between them but held off. Everyone was on edge. Finally, with a glance at Louis, Pike headed back to the porch. Louis waited until Pike was inside before he turned to Rafsky.

“You know, you’re a real prick,” Louis said.

Rafsky faced him. “And you have no reason to be here anymore.”

“At least I was here,” Louis said.

Rafsky’s eyes locked on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Louis started to walk away, but Rafsky grabbed his arm. Louis spun out of his grip.

“What the hell are you saying?” Rafsky demanded.

“I’m saying that you want to be in charge but you never seem to be around for any of the real work.” Louis paused. “Where the fuck do you disappear to? Why aren’t you here when it counts?”

Rafsky glared at him, then his eyes moved over Louis’s shoulder. Louis realized the two officers at the tape perimeter had heard them. But he didn’t care.

“Are you saying this is somehow my fault?” Rafsky said.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

Rafsky started to say something, then stopped. His expression
shifted, as if he had suddenly gone somewhere else. It lasted only a second or two and then he was back. But the ice in his eyes was gone.

“I have work to do,” Rafsky said quietly. He walked away, ducking under the yellow tape and ignoring the stares of the officers.

Q
uiet. There were always these strange hours of quiet after a shooting. Maybe it was a natural reaction to the first moments of terror and the following lost time of chaos. Or maybe it was just that the fire of adrenaline finally burned out for everyone.

Louis rubbed his face and looked up. It was nearly seven, and the tiny office of the Mackinac Island Police Department was almost empty. Clark was outside dealing with the press. His second in command was busy logging evidence. The other officers were helping the techs process at the cabin and lodge. Even the radio was silent for the moment. Barbara, the dispatcher, pulling her second shift of the day, was staring vacantly at the wall, her hands cradling a cold cup of tea.

No one was talking. The tension was too thick. Word had come from the hospital fifteen minutes ago that Flowers’s condition had stabilized, but he was still unconscious. If he made it through the next twelve hours, the doctor said, his chances were good.

Louis turned his attention back to the form in front of him. He had been here an hour now and still had not finished writing out his statement or drawn the diagram of what had happened at the cabin.

It wasn’t the process. He had written countless statements far worse than this. But there was something gut-wrenching about this one. It was like it should never have happened in a place like this.

He thought back to the scene at the cabin with Rafsky. As angry as he was at the man he shouldn’t have said what he did. It had come out of frustration and anger at himself for walking into Dancer’s trap.

He glanced at the phone. He had called Joe twenty minutes ago. She said she was fine and would be there soon so they could go get something to eat.

Eat . . . he couldn’t remember the last thing he had eaten. And right now, a big hamburger, two cold beers, and a warm bed with Joe at his side were the only things he wanted.

Clark came back in. He looked beleaguered as he walked up to Louis.

“How’d it go out there?” Louis asked.

“One of them asked where Ross Chapman is.”

The Chapmans.
Shit.

“You better call him and fill him in,” Louis said. “We’re not going to be able to keep Dancer’s skulls quiet long. I don’t want Chapman hearing about it from a damn reporter.”

“I’ll go out to their house myself tonight.”

“Make sure he understands that right now we have no solid connection between Dancer and his sister.”

Clark nodded.

“Where’s Rafsky?”

“I think he’s still upstairs with Dancer.”

“Did Dancer ask for a lawyer?”

Clark shook his head. “The only thing he asked for was a pencil and some paper.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t say. I thought maybe he wanted to write out a statement or something, so I gave him a notebook.”

“You didn’t give him a pencil, did you?”

“No. Barbara had some of her daughter’s crayons in her desk. I gave him those.”

Louis nodded. “Good.”

Clark looked down at the statement form. “Are you going to be leaving the island soon?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Louis said. “I want to make sure the chief is going to be okay first.” He leaned back in the chair. “Have you heard from his ex-wife yet?”

“She called me from the airport in Kansas City. She has a flight to Detroit tonight, but there are no connections until morning. She’ll be here tomorrow. I assigned a man to go pick her up and accompany her here.”

A sound drew Louis’s eyes to the foyer. Rafsky had come down the stairs from the courthouse. He gave Louis a quick look, then started back toward Flowers’s office. Suddenly he stopped and came back to the desk where Louis sat.

“I can’t get anything out of the bastard,” he said. “He said he wanted to talk to the black guy and the lady. What lady?”