Lake of Tears (6 page)

“Can I do anything to help?” Claire asked as she watched Pinkers carefully step up to the site of the bones and then curve over the area, his back forming a perfect U-shape. In that moment, he so reminded her of an egret—even the slow and deliberate way he moved was like a bird picking his way through the shallows.

“Please stand back,” he said without turning in her direction. “I can use your eyes, but I need to do this myself. I’m going to take a few quick photos of the site and then I’ll start to remove the bones.”

“We’ve taken extensive crime scene shots already.”

He turned his head toward her without changing his position. “I understand, and I’m sure they’re of higher quality than what I will take, but I need to have my own record. I know what I’m looking for. This will help me recall the position of all the bones so I can reassemble them in the lab.”

“Right.” She trusted him. His very weirdness made her trust him more. She could tell he was so focused on his work right now that he didn’t even want to talk to her. Time to be quiet and just watch him.

She took a couple of steps back and surveyed the whole scene. A crisp fall morning by the lake. The thermometer had read just above freezing when she checked it at six. But the sky was clear and the sun was well above the bluff line. The day would warm up nicely, maybe even get into the sixties.

Claire had never worked with only bare bones before. Not only did she not know who the murder victim was—and murder was what she was starting to think it had to be, why else would someone try to destroy the body?—but she didn’t know how or where the murder had taken place.

All she had in front of her was the end result of what must have been a nasty crime, like the period at the end of a sentence. That’s all she knew, and somehow she had to work backward and try to begin to make out the words that came before it: the people, the fight, the reasons, the actions that led to this small pile of bones lying on the ground in the cold air.

Dr. Pinkers had pulled a digital camera out of one of the many pockets that dotted his vest. He started at the head and was slowly taking shots, moving down the length of the body.

Interesting that the body had been placed so its head was toward the front of the boat. This placement showed a kind of care that made her wonder about the relationship between the victim and the killer. Or was it just habitual, done without thinking? Like putting a body on a bed; even in haste one would naturally put the head toward the head of the bed.

When Pinkers finished taking photos, he stepped away from the site and pocketed the camera.

He lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Did you say something about coffee?”

“Two thermoses,” she told him. “Even brought a mug for you.”

“Some coffee would be lovely. Don’t let me drink too much or my hands start to shake, and that’s not good in this line of work.”

Claire pulled a mug out of the pack in the back of the car and filled it for him, then refilled her own. “How long do you think it’s going to take you?”

He glanced back at the site. “This is almost as easy as it gets. The bones have been seared clean. And they’ve not been disorganized. The structure of the body is still there. I’ll start by collecting the skull, and work down to the feet.” He looked out over the lake. “In another hour or so the light should be very good here. That will make all this even easier.”

“Are you seeing anything new?”

“All I can tell so far confirms my feeling of yesterday that these are the bones of a female human. The skull size, the width of the innominate bone.”

“What bone is that?”

“Sorry—that partially comprises the pelvis, as I mentioned before. We used to depend on the skull to tell sex, but that’s not proven to be as reliable. I will know more as soon as I remove all this to the lab.”

“How soon?”

“I should be able to give you an approximation of age and a definitive answer on the sex within a day or two.”

“That’s great.”

He lifted his head and shook it as if trying to keep an irritant away. “But I do have some sad news.”

Claire was struck by the fact that he said “sad” rather than “bad,” showing his compassion for this victim. “What?”

“I’m not sure she was dead when she was put in the boat.”

What Meg wouldn’t have given for a shower. Work at the Harbor View had been hot and heavy that day, although making salads was her favorite station. If she had the time, each salad would be little works of art, but with this nice weather, the leaves at their absolute peak of color, it had been a mob scene at the restaurant, and the salads had looked instead like fallen leaves.

After shrugging out of her apron, she went into the bathroom and wiped herself down as well as she could, then undid her hair, grown long over the summer, and let it fall way below her shoulders. She imagined Andrew’s hands in her hair and shivered.

Calm down, she told herself. You might not even like him. He might be a total jerk. After all, he was a soldier, and you don’t even believe in war. Maybe that subject would come up right away, and whatever romance could have been possible would blow up in their faces.

With this thought, she promised herself she wouldn’t bring up the war. At least, not tonight. She would watch herself and be on good behavior. Curt had been gone almost two months, and she was missing some male attention. Maybe she and Andrew could just have some fun, nothing serious.

Meg leaned in and put on some eye shadow. She didn’t wear much makeup, but she thought a touch of shadow brought out her eyes, made them seem bigger and more mysterious or something.

She pinched her cheeks, fluffed her hair, wiped her mouth, smoothed her eyebrows and declared herself ready.

When she walked out the door, Andrew was waiting by his car. A slow smile came onto his open face when he saw her. He was even more attractive than she remembered.

She felt like she was seeing him for the first time. At the Burning Boat, it had been dark and she hadn’t seen him face on. Here he stood in the sunlight, skinnier than she thought, leaning against a Jeep. She was amazed to see he was driving a real car, not a truck. All the guys in Pepin drove trucks. His vehicle was a Jeep Cherokee. Old, but it looked like a decent car. Clean. A point for him.

Andrew was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. No tattoos showed. His hair looked wet, as if he had just showered. Wheat blond hair, wide blue eyes, a baseball cap in his hands he was playing with, nervously.

As soon as Meg walked down the steps, he pushed off the Jeep with his butt and smiled, tossing his hat in the air.

“Hey,” he shouted, then added, “Meg,” as if he was testing the taste of her name.

When she was standing in front of him, he crowned her with his hat, but courteously, almost royally.

“Hey, Andrew, you’re right on time.”

“The service drills that into you.” He laughed as he opened the door for her. Meg slid in and noticed it didn’t smell like he smoked. Another point in his favor. He was racking them up.

“You mentioned a hike,” he said. “You still up for it?”

“Sure.”

“Not too tired after work?” He pulled away from the curb and headed out to the highway.

“Not at all,” she lied. The back of her legs always ached after seven hours standing on her feet, but she knew that a walk would make them feel better. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Haven’t been to the Maiden Rock since high school. Then let’s come back here for burgers at Ralph and Mary’s. I haven’t had one of theirs since I got back home.”

“Perfect.”

She looked down at his feet and noticed the big boots he was wearing. “Those your army boots?” she asked.

“Yup. I’ve walked a million miles in them. I’m so used to wearing them it feels funny if they’re not on my feet.”

“They look like they weigh a ton.”

“Everything we wore in Afghanistan weighed a ton.” He said it like he was talking about more than boots and gear.

Meg wanted to steer the conversation away from the war, so she asked the first question that came to her mind. “Did you work today?”

“No, it’s my day off.”

“I don’t even know where you work.”

“Oh, I thought you knew. I work with your mom. I’m a deputy at the sheriff’s department.”

“My mom?” Meg was having trouble taking this in. She was going out with a guy who worked with her mom. Not only had he been a soldier, but now he was a cop. This was starting to feel like a really bad idea. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Meg shrugged, trying to sound easy. “I suppose not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Kinda weird.” She rested her head back and looked out the window. The leaves were coming down. The day was on the edge of warm, but soon it would turn cold and the trees would be bare. Hopefully by the time snow fell, she would be going to school in Madison.

“Well, I didn’t think Claire was old enough to have a daughter your age. How old are you?”

Meg thought of lying, she really did, but then admitted. “Eighteen.”

“Shit, no kidding. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to swear.”

“Hey, these ears are not virgin. Not around my mom and dad.” She looked over at him. “Is that a problem?”

“I had no idea. You seem much older.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Not that much difference.”

He laughed. “Well, at least you’re legal.”

“Yeah, I can have sex, get married, but I can’t drink. That’s what’s really weird.”

“I know what you mean. You can be a soldier, kill someone, but you can’t drink either. What’s that about?”

Neither of them said anything for a while, absorbing this new information about each other. Meg was really starting to wonder if this date with Andrew was a good idea. She couldn’t imagine what her mom was going to say. Andrew turned off the highway, and they drove up through the tall cottonwoods and black walnut trees that lined the bluffs, then came out on top in cornfields.

“At the next road, turn to the left, obviously toward the bluff. It’s not marked or anything. But there’s a parking lot,” she told him.

“I don’t think I would have found it on my own. Just looks like any old country road.”

The parking lot was where the old farmhouse had been. Meg loved the enormous maple trees that must have sheltered the house, given it shade. In the country, you could always tell where the farmhouses had been for the troop of trees left behind.

Andrew leaned toward her. “Listen, this doesn’t have to get serious or anything. Let’s just have a good time.”

“Sure. It’s not a big deal, you know, about you working with my mom or anything.” She smiled at him. She loved his dark blue eyes.

He reached out a hand and touched her hair.

She didn’t know how it happened. One minute they were smiling, facing each other, and the next moment, Andrew had wrapped a hand around her neck and pulled her close. She fell into him and their mouths came together.

So this is what it’s like to kiss a man, she thought, no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just pure desire. When he touched her, it was as if all the doors in her body flew open. He came at her so hungry, she had felt no urge to resist. All she wanted to do was give him what he wanted. If she could.

“I’m sure the boyfriend knows something,” Amy said as she crawled into bed next to John. All she could see of him was his head peeking out above the quilt. “Hey, give me some covers.”

“No talking about work. That’s the rule, remember. Once we hit the bed, all talk of crime and punishment ceases. Come over here and get some covers if you want them.” He held the quilt open for her.

She slid in next to him and noticed he wasn’t wearing anything. That usually meant something. “I won’t talk about work, but I just want it duly noted that I don’t trust that boyfriend of poor Tammy Lee. I wonder if she’s really missing. I think she’s run away. I wouldn’t blame her. He seems like a creep. I’m going over to talk to her parents tomorrow. Didn’t have a chance today.”

“I can see I’m going to have to try drastic measures,” John said and then pushed her down on the pillow and nuzzled her neck. His hands wrapped around her, then moved downward. Suddenly, he pulled back. “What’re you wearing?”