Bear Bones

by Charles Cutter

  Judge Fisher pounded her gavel. “Stop it, both of you. Because of Mrs. Lockwood’s unfortunate demise, I’m going to allow the question.”

  “Please reserve my objection for appeal,” Burr said.

  At least poor Consuela won’t have to keep turning her head.

  Uncle Pete was back. “Let’s start over, Ms. Rodriquez. Did you ever hear Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood talk about selling the farm?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did Mrs. Lockwood want to sell the farm?”

  “No.”

  “She never wanted to sell the farm?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Not even just before she disappeared?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez.” Brooks leaned on the railing.

  Aren’t they just the best of friends.

  “What about Mr. Lockwood?”

  Consuela bit her cheek. “No. He didn’t either. Not at first.”

  “Did he change his mind?”

  “At the end, he said he did want to sell.”

  “Did they argue about it?”

  “Yes.”

  Brooks took a step back, acting incredulous. “Would you say they fought about it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did Mr. Lockwood threaten Mrs. Lockwood?”

  “Yes.”

  Brooks leaned in. “What did he say?”

  “Something like, we need to sell the orchards. Now. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He’s really got her going now.

  “What did he say?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something like, you better do it. You’ll be sorry. Things like that.”

  “Was he ever angry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you think Mr. Lockwood might kill his wife?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. What Ms. Rodriguez may have thought about Mr. Lockwood’s state of mind is pure speculation and totally irrelevant.”

  “Sustained.” Judge Fisher took off her glasses and waved at the prosecutor. “Mr. Brooks, I allowed the hearsay. I will not allow speculation.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Brooks, the avuncular uncle, went back to work. “Were you personally afraid for Mrs. Lockwood that Mr. Lockwood might harm her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have no further questions.”

  It was Burr’s turn. He thought he’d be the kindly uncle from the other side of the family. He leaned on the other side of the railing.

  “Ms. Rodriquez, how long did you say you worked for Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood?”

  “Twenty-three years.”

  “Twenty-three years. That’s a long time.”

  Consuela nodded.

  “And you cooked and kept house?”

  “Except Sundays.” She smiled.

  “Of course.”

  “I went to the store, too.”

  Burr nodded. “So, you were very involved in the domestic life of the Lockwoods.”

  She nodded again.

  “You were in their home. Every day.” Burr paused. “Except Sunday.”

  “Yes.”

  “And who did the farming? Worked and ran the orchards?”

  “Mister. He did.”

  “What about Mrs. Lockwood?”

  “No.”

  “What did she do?”

  “The money.”

  “I see.” Burr put his hands in his pockets. “Did Mrs. Lockwood get involved in the farming?”

  “She told Mister what to do.”

  “I see. And did Mr. Lockwood work hard in the orchards?”

  “Oh, yes. Very hard.” She smiled again.

  “Was he tired at night?”

  Brooks stood. “I object, Your Honor. This is irrelevant.”

  Burr looked at Brooks. He took his hands out of his pockets and put them on his hips. Then he looked at Judge Fisher. “I am about to show the relevance.”

  “Please get on with it.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  He put his hands back in his pockets. “Ms. Rodriguez, was Mr. Lockwood tired at night?”

  “Oh, yes. He worked very hard.”

  “And was he ever discouraged after work?”

  She cocked her head again.

  “Did he ever say that running the farm was hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he ever say he’d like to sell it?”

  Brooks stood again. “Objection. Leading the witness.”

  “Your Honor, this is a simple yes or no question. It is not leading the witness.”

  “You may continue.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Did Mr. Lockwood ever say he’d like to sell the farm?” Burr said. He purposely left out when he was tired.

  “Yes. Once in a while.”

  “Did anyone else in the family want to sell the farm?”

  “Miss Karen. She did. Not Miss Lauren.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez.” Burr turned to the jury, hands still in his pockets. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that, sometimes over the years, Mr. Lockwood did want to sell the farm. And so did Mrs. Lockwood’s sister Karen. This wasn’t new, and there certainly was no reason to believe Mr. Lockwood killed his wife over it.” Burr looked at Brooks. “I have no further questions.”

  “Redirect, Your Honor.”

  Judge Fisher looked up at the prosecutor. “Mr. Brooks, is it possible for you to ask all your questions at once?”

  Brooks stood. “I could, Your Honor, if Mr. Lafayette would stop twisting the truth.”

  She scowled at Brooks but didn’t say anything.

  “Ms. Rodriguez, would you say that Mr. Lockwood was more interested in selling the farm just before Mrs. Lockwood disappeared?”

  Consuela put her hands on the railing. “Yes.”

  “And did Mr. Lockwood raise his voice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he threaten her?”

  It was Burr’s turn. “Asked and answered.”

  Consuela put her hands back in her lap and wrung them.

  “You need not answer the question, Ms. Rodriguez,” the judge said.

  She looked down at her hands.

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Brooks said.

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriquez,” Judge Fisher said. “You are excused.

  After Consuela had taken her seat, Brooks turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have just heard the witness testify she heard the defendant threaten his wife.” He walked over to the jury box. “We have shown that Mrs. Lockwood was killed with her husband’s pistol. The pistol was found in the harbor at South Manitou, where she anchored her boat on the day she was murdered. Four witnesses have testified that they saw the defendant on the ferry. Another witness has testified that she saw Mrs. Lockwood pick up the defendant on the island in her dinghy and take him back to her boat.” He paused. “And now Mr. Sleeper and Ms. Rodriguez have testified that the defendant wanted to sell the orchards, but Mrs. Lockwood did not.”

  Brooks looked at Tommy, then back at the jury.

  “And we’ve just heard that the defendant threatened his wife.” Brooks pointed at Tommy. “That man murdered his wife. You have all the proof you need to convict him of first-degree murder.”

  Tommy looked away, which Burr had told him never to do.

  “Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”

  Damn it all. I can’t let it end here.

  Burr stood. “Your Honor, I have a few more questions for the witness.

  Judge Fisher sighed, clearly exasperated. “Mr. Lafayette, I have already excused the witness, and Mr. Brooks just finished presenting his case.”

 
“Your Honor….”

  She cut him off. “If you have more questions for Ms. Rodriguez, you may call her during your defense, which will begin in the morning. We are adjourned.” She slammed her gavel and left the courtroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was raining when Burr walked outside. A cold, fall rain. The sky was the gray of fall and the gray of winter to come. He brushed the rain off his suit, climbed into the Jeep and made his way to M-22 and up the shoreline. The wind blew about twenty from the northwest and waves were crashing on the beach.

  “It’s almost duck season,” Burr said to Zeke, who wasn’t with him. He kept heading north on M-22, the rain beating on the windshield and the windshield wipers not really keeping up. He looked in his rearview mirror. The rain streamed down the back window with the broken windshield wiper. It was like looking through a glass of water. “I don’t need to know what’s behind me,” he said, out loud again. “It’s a good way to live. Mostly.”

  It was dark and still raining by the time he reached Northport. “I have to do something,” he said out loud again. “Brooks has me. I’m euchred if I can’t come up with something.” He drove past the marina, turned into Craker’s and parked at the shed where Achilles lay on the hard. He tried the door. Locked. “Damn it all.” He took a credit card out of his wallet and made for the door. He slipped it between the casing and the door.

  This might be the only thing this is good for.

  He fiddled with the card, getting wetter by the second. Finally, the latch clicked, and he was inside.

  He fumbled around in the dark until his hand swiped across the light switch. The shed lit up but not much. He threaded his way between the boats, packed together like commuters in the subway. Maybe a foot between them. He found Achilles, still in the corner, and then a ladder. He climbed the ladder and stood in the cockpit, careful not to slip with his leather soles. “Where would I keep an inflatable dinghy?”

  Helen could have launched the dinghy, then towed it, but towing a dinghy in any kind of sea was difficult. Maybe she stowed it. Burr searched the boat, all the likely places, the lockers in the cockpit, the engine compartment, down below. Nothing. He couldn’t find it anywhere. Then he remembered. He raced back to the cockpit. He opened the lockers again, one by one. Then he opened the lazarette. Empty. It was empty.

  This must be where she stowed the dinghy, but it’s sure not here now.

  He sat in the main salon.

  Maybe the dinghy doesn’t matter. Maybe it sunk while Achilles was adrift. Filled up and sank. That’s probably what happened.

  But what if the killer anchored Achilles around the other side of the island and took Helen’s body ashore to bury it. Then took the dinghy back to Achilles. Then put Achilles on autopilot and sent her off to Milwaukee. Then took the dinghy back to shore and scuttled it. Then walked to the harbor and took the ferry back to Leland.

  Or maybe the killer rode the dinghy back to the mainland. Dicey, but it could be done if the seas were calm.

  * * *

  Burr stood in front of the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, the prosecution has presented an altogether unconvincing case. Mr. Brooks has tried to tie certain facts together, but the facts he presented don’t fit what really happened. I am about to

  show you why.” Burr looked at the gallery. “The defense calls Consuela Rodriguez.”

  She took the witness stand, still nervous or nervous again. Burr didn’t know which. Judge Fisher reminded Consuela she was still under oath.

  Burr walked to the evidence table and picked up the 380 Auto, the murder weapon. He walked back to the witness stand and showed it to Consuela.

  “Have you seen this before?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is it?”

  “Mr. Tommy’s gun.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez. And do you know where this was usually kept?”

  “In Mr. Tommy’s dresser. In the top drawer.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez.”

  Burr put the gun in his other hand. “And did Mrs. Lockwood know about this gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she ever use it?”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Tommy showed her how. They practiced out back.”

  “Really,” Burr said, surprised but not really surprised. “Do you know why he had her practice?”

  She smiled, not so nervous now. “He wanted her to take it with her when she went places without him.”

  “Like on her boat?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, it would be normal for her to have it with her when she took the boat out?”

  “Yes.”

  Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, the fact that Mrs. Lockwood was killed with a gun registered to Mr. Lockwood doesn’t mean that he shot her with it. Mrs. Lockwood kept the gun with her on her boat.” He looked back at the judge. “I have no further questions.”

  Brooks stood. He walked up to Consuela and smiled, but she looked scared again.

  “Ms. Rodriguez, do you know if Mrs. Lockwood took the murder weapon on her last visit to South Manitou?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you see her take it?”

  “No,” she said, nervous again.

  “So, you really don’t know.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “If she did take the gun with her, Mr. Lockwood would have known, wouldn’t he?”

  “Objection,” Burr said. “The witness can’t know what Mr. Lockwood might have known.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez. I have no further questions.”

  Burr thought he might be able to turn that around, but he was afraid any more questions might likely make things worse. No matter what she said.

  Burr called Lester Dillworth, the beefy charter captain with the beer belly.

  “Mr. Dillworth, you’re a charter boat captain out of Frankfort. Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Burr nodded. “Mr. Dillworth, would you please tell us a little about what you do and where you do it?”

  Dillworth leaned back in his chair.

  I hope he doesn’t break it.

  “I take people out sport fishing. Salmon, lake trout, steelhead. I’ve got a Tiara. Thirty-two-foot sport fish with a fly bridge. Name is It’ll Do. We run out of Frankfort, up and down the coast. We get up to Leland sometimes, not too often.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dillworth. And did you see Mrs. Lockwood’s boat, Achilles, near Manitou Shoals on June 10th of last year?”

  “I did.”

  “Would you please tell us what you saw and what you did?”

  Dillworth leaned forward. “June is slow for salmon. They’re not this far north yet and there’s no scum line for steelhead. So, I like to run up to Manitou Shoals and fish lake trout.” Dillworth nodded to himself. “I’d been up the day before and I seen that boat out in the lake. It looked like it was drifting, but I didn’t think much of it. There wasn’t much wind.”

  Dillworth leaned in further. His belly pushed through the spindles of the witness box. “We did pretty good up there, so I came back the next day. Just a light wind. No waves to speak of. There’s the boat again. Now she’s right off Sleeping Bear, sideways to the waves. Drifting in the wind. It don’t look right so I come up alongside and call out.” Dillworth shouted. “Anybody there?”

  That would wake the dead.

  “I hollered again. No answer. It sure seemed to me like something was fishy, so I tied alongside and climbed aboard.”

  Finally.

  “Did you look around the boat?” Burr said.

  “I was just gettin’ to that.” Dillworth gave Burr a peeved look. “Not a soul around.”

  “Did you find Mrs. Lockwood’s purse on the boat?”

 
“Nope.”

  “If she had fallen overboard, I don’t think she would have gone over with her purse. Do you?”

  “Objection. Speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  Point made.

  Burr scuffed one of his shoes on the floor. “What did you do next?”

  “I went to the pilot’s station. Keys in both engines. Turned on. Engines in gear. Throttle low. But they weren’t running. Autopilot set to 260. About Milwaukee.”

  “Did you try them?”

  “Yeah. They started right up.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “My guess is they stalled out.”

  “But there was no one aboard.”

  “Nope.”

  “What did you do then?”

  Dillworth leaned back in his chair. “I had sports on board and this fishing boat, commercial fisherman, is coming hard at us so we left.”

  “Could someone have robbed her, then killed her and set the boat out into Lake Michigan? To make it look like she fell overboard but when, in reality, she was murdered?”

  Burr started counting to himself. He got as far two when Brooks roared.

  “Your Honor, I object. Defense counsel continues to ask the witness to speculate.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Lafayette, you know better.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Burr knew Brooks would object, and he knew Brooks was right, but he also knew the jury was listening. He turned to them. “As I said a few minutes ago, many times the most obvious explanation is, in fact, the explanation. As in this case. Someone robbed Mrs. Lockwood. It went wrong and she was killed. The thief buried the body on South Manitou and sent the boat out in the lake. The engines stalled and Captain Dillworth found the boat.” Burr took two steps toward the jury. “It’s as simple as that.” Then to Brooks, “Your witness.”

  Burr sat. Tommy nodded at him.

  “Mr. Dillworth,” Brooks said, “did you have any idea that Mrs. Lockwood had been murdered when you boarded her boat?”

  “No.”

  “She could have been killed by her husband, who made it look like a robbery.”

  Burr jumped up. “Speculation, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  Brooks stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Mr. Dillworth, you really have no idea what happened, do you,” Brooks said, not asking.