Bear Bones

by Charles Cutter

  “Deputy, go ahead and arrest him.”

  Burr stormed out of the shed and into the sun. He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted. Burr found his Jeep and climbed in. He was furious with Brooks. I’m going to get back on that boat and get another look at that logbook. No matter what.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I need to calm down and figure something out.

  Jacob staggered out the door and leaned up against the shed. Deputy Holcomb came out next. He said something to Jacob and then walked over to the Jeep. “This is a crime scene. You may not enter that shed. Understood?” He stomped off before Burr could answer. Jacob, apparently recovered from his ordeal, got into the backseat.

  “Get in the front seat,” Burr said. “Zeke can sit in the back.”

  “I give up,” Jacob said.

  “What exactly are you giving up?”

  Jacob leaned against the door, “Everything. All of it. In its entirety.”

  “As in?”

  “I give up on boats. I give up on ladders. I give up on the front seat. You win. Zeke wins.”

  Burr pointed to the backseat. “Zeke,” he said.

  “No, no. Please don’t. I can’t possibly sit where your miserable dog has been. There’s dog hair everywhere. And I don’t have it in me to get out of this accursed Jeep and get back in.” Jacob looked out the window. “I never should have ridden here with you. I want to be in my own car.”

  “That Corvair you drive is a foolish piece of machinery that hardly ever works right.”

  “It’s a Peugeot and you know it.”

  Maybe I should have helped him down the ladder.

  Burr put the Jeep in gear and started off. “Jacob, what you need is lunch.”

  “No, no. Not another one of your hole-in-the-wall eateries posing as restaurants.”

  “Jacob, I’m sorry I didn’t help you off the boat.” Burr pulled out of the boatyard and onto the road. “We’ve got to get back in there.“

  “Holcomb told us to stay out.”

  “I don’t care what he said.”

  “You’ll get yourself arrested again.”

  “I’ve got to get another look at that logbook.”

  Jacob reached into his pocket and passed the logbook to Burr.

  “I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. And your car.” Burr beamed. “How did you manage it?”

  “I slipped it into my pocket when Holcomb wasn’t looking.”

  “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  * * *

  Buying Jacob lunch had seemed like a good idea, but The Little Finger couldn’t come close to his exacting standards. Jacob had insisted that water was all he wanted, but then he didn’t like the plastic glass with a chip on the rim. Burr had finally ordered his partner a grilled cheese on white. Jacob cut off the crusts and nibbled on it. Burr had the special, a Reuben with split pea soup, which he would recommend.

  After lunch, Burr dropped Jacob off back at the boatyard to watch Achilles and make sure nothing came off or on until he got back. Then he drove out of Northport south on M-22. Grand Traverse Bay rose and fell in lazy swells coming in from the northwest, a shiny blue in the brilliant sunshine.

  “Zeke, if I spend any more time on this damn road, they’re going to start calling it the Burr Lafayette Memorial Highway.”

  He drove through Omena, a hamlet not quite big enough to be a village.

  Twenty minutes later he sat across from Peter Brooks in his Suttons Bay office. The prosecutor ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. Burr thought he looked a little too dapper for a government employee, but then his family did own hundreds of acres of orchards, so he didn’t have to live on what the county paid him.

  “Helen Lockwood’s boat is a crime scene.”

  “It wasn’t until I climbed aboard.”

  “You’re lucky you weren’t arrested.”

  “Deputy Holcomb and I are friends,” Burr said. “Tommy had Achilles pulled over a year ago. She’s been in that shed for over a year. No one has set foot on her since the inquest. Whatever evidence that might be on that boat has long been corrupted.”

  Brooks looked up at Burr. “Corrupted?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. That boat has been sitting in that shed for all the world to tamper with. It wasn’t a secure site. Anybody with a stepladder could have taken evidence off that boat. Or put evidence on the boat.” Burr looked out Brooks’ window at the sunshine.

  “It’s a crime scene and you are to stay off,” Brooks said.

  “You botched this, Petey.” Burr looked back at Brooks. “And all the king’s men can’t put Humpty back together again.”

  Brooks pointed at Burr with a long, manicured finger. “You will not talk to me that way.”

  “Just in case there is anything worth looking at, I want back on Achilles.”

  “Over my dead body.” Brooks put his hands flat on his desk. “For all I know, you’ve already taken evidence off that boat.”

  Burr tapped the logbook in his pocket.

  If you only knew.

  “What’s that in your pocket?”

  Burr put his hands in his lap. “That,” he paused, searching for an answer, “is my appointment book.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Brooks picked up his desk phone. “Send a deputy in here.”

  “You need a warrant and probable cause.” Burr stood. “You’re preventing me from representing my client. Get me back on that boat.” Burr walked out the door.

  * * *

  By the time Burr made it back to the boatyard, Brooks had the shed where Achilles was stored cordoned off and yellow crime scene tape wrapped around the boat. Burr picked up Jacob and dropped him off at his silly Peugeot with instructions to go through the crumpled-up list of suspects.

  Burr drove to Woody’s in Northport, a white two-story building that had once been a hotel and could use a little paint. He parked himself at the bar. Woody lived upstairs and made the best Bombay martini in Leelanau County. After two martinis and an eye on a third, Burr ordered the ribeye, Woody’s specialty, also the best in Leelanau County but partly ruined because he couldn’t get back on Achilles. He took the logbook out of his pocket and flipped through it. “Sunny, sunny, sunny. Cloudy, sunny, cloudy, cloudy, cloudy.” Burr chewed on a piece of his ribeye. “Rain, rain, rain.” He closed the book. “I’ve got to get back on that damn boat.”

  He spent a restless night on Spindrift. After taking Zeke for his morning walk, they set off in the Jeep. After filing his motion in circuit court, he stopped at Munson Hospital on the chance he could see Lauren. Burr waited for her in the maternity lounge. He felt decidedly out of place. He wasn’t married and there was no one remotely close to him giving birth, and certainly not in Traverse City. Burr sat in an overstuffed beige chair in the corner. The fathers-to-be were glued to the TV, the Tigers and White Sox playing an afternoon game.

  And there she was. Lauren, her hair pulled back, in forest-green scrubs and white tennis shoes, looking every bit like the nurse she was.

  “Is something wrong?” she said.

  Burr stood. “I just filed a motion at the courthouse and thought I’d stop by.”

  “I may only have a few minutes.” Lauren sat in a chair next to him.

  Burr told her what had happened on Achilles and showed her the logbook. She thumbed through it, raised her eyebrows once or twice, then handed it back to Burr.

  “Did you see anything that stood out?”

  She shook her head. “No, I knew she used the boat, but I had no idea she used it that much.” Lauren brushed a strand of her brown hair out of her face. “Who do you think killed her? I know you probably can’t say, but do you think it was Tommy?”

  Burr sat back in his chair. I
hope not. He ran his hands through his hair. “No. No, I don’t.”

  Lauren’s pager beeped. “It’s time. Finally.”

  * * *

  Burr and Maggie woke up at the same time, cuddling in Spindrift’s starboard berth, barely big enough for one. Zeke slept at one end of the port berth, Finn at the other. Maggie kissed Burr, then struggled to get out of their sleeping bag. She moved over to the other bunk, quite naked. She put on Burr’s shirt and squeezed in between the two dogs.

  “Burr,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m leaving you.”

  Burr sat up. “What?”

  “It’s clear to me that you like things just the way they are.”

  He thought it was much too early for this.

  “I love you. I think you love me, but this isn’t enough.”

  “Maggie…”

  “Call me if you change your mind.” She threw her things in her suitcase and boosted Finn into the cockpit. She jumped onto the dock, wearing Burr’s shirt and not much else.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A week later, Burr pulled down the cuffs of his baby blue pinpoint oxford that didn’t need pulling down and straightened his red silk tie with the tiny black diamonds, which, of course, didn’t need straightening.

  Here he stood in the windowless courtroom of Judge Mary Fisher, ivory walls with the pictures of her predecessors, illustrious and otherwise, a church pew gallery, varnished oak turning black. Matching jury box, witness stand, and the judge’s rostrum with a single rose in a bud vase perched on the corner.

  Just like in her office.

  Judge Fisher looked down her nose at him but didn’t say anything.

  “Your Honor, we are here today because the prosecution has refused to allow the defense access to what might be vital evidence located on the late Helen Lockwood’s boat, Achilles.”

  Peter Brooks stood. “Your Honor, that is not true. Mr. Lafayette was corrupting evidence at a crime scene.”

  “That is patently false,” Burr said. He turned to the judge. “Your Honor, that boat sat abandoned in a shed in Northport for over a year. The prosecutor had absolutely no interest in that boat until the defense looked it over.”

  “You didn’t look it over,” Brooks said. “You tore it apart.”

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  Judge Fisher slammed her gavel. “Stop it. Both of you. We’re all Michigan grads here, and we’re going to have a civil discourse.”

  I doubt it.

  She looked at the prosecutor. “Mr. Brooks, do not say another word until Mr. Lafayette is finished. Then you can have your turn.” She looked at Burr. “And then you will be quiet. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” both lawyers said.

  “We’re going to do it just like we learned in kindergarten. It’s called taking turns.” She put her gavel down and folded her hands. “Mr. Lafayette, it’s your turn.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Burr paused. “As I was saying, the defense was conducting an examination of the deceased’s boat in the shed at Craker’s Boatyard in Northport. Over a year earlier, the sheriff’s department searched the boat in connection with the disappearance of Helen Lockwood. After their investigation, they released the boat to the deceased’s husband, Thomas Lockwood, who had the boat stored at Craker’s. Approximately two weeks ago, my partner and I were examining the boat in connection with our defense of Thomas Lockwood when we were summarily removed from the boat and threatened with arrest. Since that date, the prosecutor has denied all access to the boat. Your Honor, we believe there may be important evidence on board that will be vital to the defense of my client. Mr. Brooks’ continued refusal to allow me access to the boat under the ruse that it is a crime scene is not only prejudicing my client, it is a clear violation of the evidentiary rules laid down in case after case, namely…”

  “Stop right there, Mr. Lafayette,” the judge said. “I have read the able brief of your associate, who I believe is sitting next to you.”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Is there anything you’d like to add, Mr. Wertheim?”

  Burr looked back at Jacob, who was turning a whiter shade of pale. Jacob was terrified of speaking in court.

  If he opens his mouth, I am lost.

  Jacob shook his head “no.”

  Thank God. Burr turned back to the judge.

  “Somehow I didn’t think you would.” She smiled at Burr’s quaking partner. “Your reputation precedes you.” Then to Burr, “Do you have anything further?”

  “No, Your Honor.” Burr walked back to his table and sat next to Jacob, whose color was slowly returning.

  “Mr. Brooks,” Judge Fisher said.

  Brooks stood. He slicked his hair, then approached the bench. “Your Honor, as you well know, the sheriff discovered Helen Lockwood’s body on South Manitou Island earlier this summer. There was a bullet hole in her forehead. The bullet came from a gun owned by Thomas Lockwood. The gun was found in the harbor on South Manitou where Mrs. Lockwood anchored her boat on or about the time she was killed. Numerous witnesses saw Mr. Lockwood on the ferry to South Manitou during the same time period.”

  “This isn’t an opening statement,” Burr said, sotto voce.

  Brooks looked back at Burr. Judge Fisher scowled at him. Burr smiled.

  Brooks turned back to the judge. “As I was saying, based on the evidence, the State charged Thomas Lockwood with murdering his wife. Since that time, we have treated Mrs. Lockwood’s boat as a crime scene. Mr. Lafayette has flagrantly disregarded that designation.”

  Burr jumped up. “Your Honor, that is absolutely false. The prosecution totally forgot about the boat until…”

  “Sit down, Mr. Lafayette. It’s not your turn.”

  Burr sputtered but sat.

  Brooks continued. “Not only did Mr. Lafayette disregard the crime tape, we believe he may have removed evidence from the crime scene.”

  Burr jumped to his feet again. “It wasn’t marked as a crime scene when we boarded the boat.”

  Judge Fisher slammed her gavel. “Mr. Lafayette, sit down and don’t say another word. It appears that you never learned turn-taking in kindergarten. “She looked at the prosecutor. “Mr. Brooks?”

  “Your Honor, the State has two requests.” Brooks raised his forefinger. “Enjoin Mr. Lafayette from entering the crime scene and…” Brooks raised another finger. “Compel Mr. Lafayette to return all evidence, particularly the log book kept by the deceased, which he stole from the boat.”

  Burr couldn’t help himself. Up again. “Your Honor, this is an outrage.”

  Judge Fisher pointed at Burr and motioned him to sit back down. Burr sat for the third time.

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” she said to Burr.

  “Double, double, toil and trouble,” Burr said, mostly to himself.

  Judge Fisher nodded at him but put a finger over her lips and shushed him. To Brooks, “Anything further?”

  “No, Your Honor.” Brooks walked back to his table and sat.

  The judge cleared her throat. “Counsel,” she said to both of them, “if today’s performance is a sample of what I have to look forward to at the trial, I shall certainly need to equip myself with a large bottle of aspirin.” She paused. “As to the merits of your arguments, you are both right.” She paused again. “And you are both wrong. Mr. Brooks, you may rightly treat Mrs. Lockwood’s boat as a crime scene. As such, you have every right to ask Mr. Lafayette to return anything he may have…” She paused again and looked at Burr. “Pilfered.”

  “It wasn’t a crime scene when I took it,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that?” she said.

  “I said, ‘of course’ Your Honor.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Burr, careful not to open his mouth aga
in, thought, so far, I’m the big loser here.

  She looked over at Brooks and said, “Mr. Lafayette, as counsel for the defense, has every right to examine the crime scene and all evidence found there.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “You say that, but you haven’t allowed it, have you, ” the judge said, not asking.

  Brooks squirmed in his chair.

  “Mr. Brooks, you have one week to finish examining the boat. During that time, you will catalog everything on the boat and everything you remove from the boat. One week from today, you will grant Mr. Lafayette access to Achilles. You will present him your list of cataloged items and make them available for inspection. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Brooks said.

  “As for you, Mr. Lafayette, you will stay away from Achilles for one week. You have forty-eight hours to turn over anything you may have taken from the crime scene to Mr. Brooks. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, however…”

  She cut him off. “Don’t say another word.”

  * * *

  Burr sat at his desk, hunched over his new car phone. Zeke lounged on the couch. He had the bag that held the phone and the battery on his desk. He’d run the cord that connected the phone to the antenna on the window behind him, where he’d taped the antenna to the glass.

  “Zeke, the moment of truth.” Burr dialed his office number. He held the receiver to his ear. It rang and rang and rang and rang. Finally, “Lafayette and Wertheim.”

  “By God, it works,” although he could still hear the phone ringing.

  That’s just a little problem.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Eve, it’s me. Burr.”

  “Of course, it is.”

  “It works, Eve. It works.” Burr jumped to his feet and did a little jig.

  “What do you want?”

  “Watson, I need you.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “Of course, you are.”

  “Burr, look up from your jig.”

  Burr, still jigging, looked at the door to his office. There stood Eve at the door to his office, hands on her hips.