By ten there were cat’s paws on the lake. Burr took the helm and steered from cat’s paw to cat’s paw. The wind started to clock and they sailed west of the rhumb line. By two, the wind had clocked all the way to the southwest and they jibed onto port tack. By the time they reached the turning mark at Cove Island, the wind had freshened enough to keep the sails full.
Burr saw Elysia idling off the mark and raised her on the VHF. “Elysia, Elysia, Elysia … This is Scaramouche, sail number US23866, rounding the Cove Island mark at 3:17 p.m.”
“Is that you, Burr?”
“It is, Stubby.”
“You’re making good time.”
“I guessed right. So far.” Burr cleared his throat. “Sail ahead, US 46732. Sail behind, US 11600. Scaramouche out.”
* * *
After he picked up the pictures in the garden, Burr changed into his sincere blue suit, his lawyering clothes now in his closet at Windward. He took the ferry to St. Ignace, climbed the steps of the Mackinac County Courthouse, where Murdo had been charged and the very same building that housed the Mackinac County Sheriff’s Department, the Mackinac County Prosecuting Attorney’s office and the Mackinac County Circuit Court.
One-stop shopping.
He found Detective Emil Conti’s office in the basement and sat down across from him, a pockmarked desk between them.
“Detective Conti, I have a right to know what you found.”
“Of course, you do, Mr. Lafayette,” Conti said, still dressed brown, from sand to cocoa. He made an effort, largely unsuccessful, to straighten his tie, a floral print, also in brown.
The flowers on that tie need watering.
“Detective, may I have the evidence?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have the authority to give you any evidence.”
“Let me start over. You testified at the preliminary exam that Murdoch Halverson’s fingerprints were on the bulbs on the string of Christmas lights wrapped around Jimmy Lyons’ neck. Do I have that right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And were you present when the fingerprints were lifted?”
“Yes.”
“Good again.”
Conti’s big front teeth stuck out like a rat’s when he smiled, if rats smiled.
“Were there anyone else’s fingerprints on the bulbs?”
“Yes.”
“Really? And how do you know?”
“The crime scene people told me.”
“Whose fingerprints were they?”
“No idea.” Conti fussed with the knot on his tie. Burr didn’t think the detective was nervous. Bored maybe, but not nervous.
“Detective Conti, you’re not on the witness stand and you’re not under oath. If you were, I’d ask the judge to treat you as a hostile witness.”
Conti smiled his rat smile.
“At this rate, detective, you’ll be ready for your pension before we’re done.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about the fingerprints.”
“I already told you, the prints were the defendant’s.”
“Tell me about the others,” Burr said.
“Did I say there were others?”
“You did.”
“All right. There were other prints, but they were smudged, and the tech couldn’t identify them.”
“But there were other prints.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Detective, couldn’t the other fingerprints belong to someone other than Murdoch Halverson?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why would you doubt it?” Burr was getting angry with this twenty-question fiasco.
“The defendant was seen arguing with the deceased. The defendant was seen sneaking out the back of the hotel. We identified the prints as his. There’s no reason to go any further.”
“Why didn’t you testify at the preliminary exam that there were other fingerprints?”
“No one asked.”
“No one asked,” Burr said.
“I answer what I’m asked. That’s it.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost lunch time.”
“Do you know if the other prints were saved?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t know, or no, they weren’t saved?”
“Yes.”
“But for your shoddy investigation, my client might not have been charged,” Burr said.
“We’d have charged him anyway.”
* * *
Two floors up, Burr popped out of the stairway into the waiting area of the prosecutor’s office. The prosecutor’s office always sat atop law enforcement, this being the hierarchy of the criminal justice system.
In keeping with the pecking order, the furniture was made from genuine fake wood and the filing cabinets had fewer dents. Burr saw Karpinen looking out his office window at the parking lot. He knocked on Karpinen’s open door.
“Not now, Myrna,” Karpinen said, his back to the door.
Burr knocked again.
“Myrna, this isn’t a good time to talk about what happened last night.”
Intrigued, Burr knocked again.
“Myrna, please. I’m sorry. It’s just that I find you…” Karpinen turned around. Burr saw the missing front teeth on the upper left side of his mouth. The prosecutor’s scalp turned a sunburned shade of red. He limped to his desk, fished his bridge from a glass of water and filled the gap in his teeth.
“How attractive,” Burr said.
“What’s that?”
Burr walked in and sat on what could only be a Naugahyde chair.
Karpinen shuffled through a pile of papers. “I don’t see that you have an appointment.”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you make an appointment with my secretary and come back at the scheduled time.”
“Would that be Myrna?”
Burr watched in horror as Karpinen took out his bridge with his tongue, rolled it around in his mouth, then put it back in.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see all of the evidence you have on file in this case.”
“I’ve given you all the relevant evidence.”
“I filed an evidentiary request two weeks ago.”
“I don’t remember that, but if you did, we most certainly complied. No offsides here.”
Burr looked over Karpinen’s office. A bookshelf filled with trophies. All hockey. There was the clincher, a hockey stick taped at the business end, leaning against a wall.
Here in the frozen north, what they say is … there are ten months of winter and two months of bad skating. Burr was afraid he was going to be stuck with Karpinen and his clichés ad nauseum and ad infinitum.
“Mr. Karpinen…”
“Call me Gus.”
“Gus, I have just visited with Detective Conti and have reason to believe that I don’t have all of the evidence you have.”
“You have all you need,” Gus said.
“I assume you’re familiar with Brady versus Maryland.”
Karpinen gave him a blank look.
“Pertinent is not the standard. The standard is ‘all evidence which may be exculpatory.’ That’s the standard, and that’s what was in the pleading.”
“You have all you need.”
“That’s not for you to say,” Burr said, standing. “I think I’ll go find Myrna.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I think you may be headed to the penalty box.”
* * *
Burr climbed higher in the jurisprudential pecking order. Now on the top floor, he found himself in the offices of the circuit court, with real yellow birch paneling timbered by the lumber barons. Burr could
almost see his reflection in it. He was preening when a voice said, “Young man, there is a mirror in the men’s room.” The voice had come from yet another open door, this one to his left. “How did you possibly get in here?”
“The stairs.”
“What’s that?”
“The stairs,” he said again.
“The stairs?”
“The stairs,” Burr said for the third time. “I don’t care for elevators.”
“Oh, the stairs,” said the voice. “I don’t care for intruders, but you don’t look too threatening.”
Burr looked down at himself in his sincere blue suit. He supposed he didn’t.
“Arvid Lindstrom. Judge of the Mackinac County Circuit Court.”
Lindstrom was long and thin. Seventyish. Fit, if fading from long use. Thinning gray hair that looked like it had been pasted to his head. A long nose propped up wire-rim glasses with steely-blue eyes behind them.
“And you are?”
“Burr Lafayette.”
“What’s that?”
“Burr Lafayette,” Burr said again.
“Murdoch Halverson’s counsel.”
“Yes, sir.”
They shook hands. “Come in, young man.” Burr couldn’t remember the last time he had been called that.
I like the sound of it.
Lindstrom sat down in a mahogany-colored leather chair behind a massive oak desk. Burr had seen smaller cars. Sunlight bathed Lindstrom and his desk. A corner office with paned windows the size of pool tables. Burr thought this was as close to heaven as you could get in the Mackinac County Courthouse.
“Young man, what is it that you want?”
“Your Honor, I don’t think the prosecutor has turned over all the evidence he has.”
“What’s that?”
Burr repeated himself.
If I have to say everything twice, this is going to take until tomorrow.
“What would you have me do about it?”
“I’d like the evidence the prosecutor has, Your Honor. All of it.”
“Young man,” Lindstrom said again, “Mackinac Island is a big part of our local economy. The biggest part. And it doesn’t help business to have a murder over there.”
“No, sir, I’m sure it doesn’t.”
“The tomfoolery with the missing pink pony doesn’t trouble me, but Chief Brandstatter isn’t too happy about it.”
“Sir?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Judge Lindstrom took off his glasses. Without his glasses on, he had beady eyes. “That infernal hobby horse. Happens every year.” He put his glasses back on. “In any event, I want this murder nonsense worked out between you and Karpinen.”
“Worked out?”
Lindstrom motioned Burr around to his right side. “We can make this a lot simpler if you just talk into my right ear.” Burr took three steps to Lindstrom’s right ear.
“That’s better,” Lindstrom said. “Worked out. No trial.”
“Your Honor, I must have all of the evidence.”
“You filed a Brady motion. Karpinen should have given you all he had.”
“I don’t think he did, Your Honor.”
Lindstrom muttered to himself. “What would you have me do?”
“Tell him to give me all the evidence.”
“Mercy sake, Mr. Lafayette. I’m the judge, not his conscience.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Do what every lawyer who wants something from me does. File a motion. No, don’t file a motion. I’ll speak to him. No, I won’t. I want the two of you to get together and plead this.”
“My client didn’t kill Jimmy Lyons. I can’t plead guilty.”
“I don’t want this case tried.”
“My client didn’t kill Jimmy Lyons.”
“A likely story.” Lindstrom sat there for a moment. “Go find my secretary and ask her to come in here.”
“Where might I find her?”
“You found your way in here. You can surely find my secretary.”
Burr stood.
“Never mind,” Lindstrom said, shouting. “Myrna, would you come here please?” A plump young woman appeared in the doorway, the foil to Lindstrom’s Jack Spratt.
She had the creamiest, most flawless complexion Burr had ever seen. Her creamy face framed pouty, ruby lips, and a bob framed her creamy face. She sashayed in like a model for a large and tall catalog, the princess of the Mackinac County Courthouse.
“Myrna, go find Gus and tell him to give Mr. Lafayette all of the evidence he has.” Lindstrom took off his glasses. “All of it. I’m sure you know where to find him.”
Does she ever.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she said primly. Myrna turned and walked off, hips swaying like she was on a runway.
Lindstrom winked at Burr.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Burr sat on the patio of the Iroquois and looked out at the water. The Iroquois, a forty-room, four story, white frame hotel with grand towers, rested on the most western point of Main Street, Round Island across the channel. The harbor to the east. The Mackinac Bridge to the west. A spectacular view, even by Mackinac Island standards. He desperately wanted to order a martini, but he thought he should wait.
Ten minutes later, Carole sat across from him. She wore a blue dress with a V-neck, tucked in at her waist. He stood and kissed her on the cheek.
“You don’t even know if I brought the list.”
I don’t care.
Burr pulled out her chair.
Carole ordered a Pinot Grigio. Burr, still desperate for a martini, thought better of it and ordered a bottle. The wine arrived and Burr proposed a toast. “To summer. May it linger.” They touched their glasses. Carole leaned toward him and looked in his eyes. “My dress matches your eyes.”
Burr was a fool for flattery, especially from a pretty, younger woman. “No one has ever said that to me before.”
Carole sipped her wine. Her lipstick left a pink smudge on her glass, which Burr found provocative. He stared at her glass.
“Is something wrong?”
“How could anything possibly be wrong?”
“You’re just sitting there, staring at my wine glass.” She picked up her napkin and wiped off the pink smudge. “Is that better?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s fine?”
If I don’t say something that makes sense, I’m going to ruin everything.
“What about the winter?”
She looked at him like he was crazy.
I’m not crazy. I’m smitten.
“The winter. What do you do in the winter?”
“In the winter, I manage a bar in Key West.”
“That sounds like fun.”
That’s better.
“I wouldn’t call it fun, but it pays the bills. And it’s warm.”
While he tried to think of what to say next, Carole said, “I was an English teacher in Boyne City, but I got tired of trying to teach kids who had no interest in the printed word or learning how to read. That, and the cold. One day I got in my car and drove south until I couldn’t go any farther.”
“That sounds like a great way to live.”
“It isn’t, but thank you for saying so.”
He finished his wine, topped off Carole’s glass and poured himself a full one.
If we finish the bottle, maybe I can order a martini.
The waiter showed up to take their orders. Carole asked Burr to order for her. He ordered her the lake perch in a dill sauce. His chef friend had his own herb garden on the west side of the hotel, so Burr knew the dish would be delicious. He ordered veal with morel, a wild mushroom only found in northern climes. His confidence restored, he ordered himself a martini. Ca
role stuck with the wine.
After dinner, Carole reached into her purse. “If you’re not going to ask for it, I’m going to give it to you anyway.” She handed a piece of paper to Burr. He reached in the breast pocket of his blazer for the handwritten crew list and set it beside Carole’s list.
“If anybody finds out, I’ll get fired,” Carole said.
“No one will ever know.” Burr pretended to look at the lists, but he was watching Carole push her silky white bra strap back under her dress.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Burr smiled at her. Then he actually studied the reservation list. “There’s one more name on the reservation list than on the list Toad gave me.”
“Toad?”
Burr counted the names again. Ten on Toad’s list. Eleven on Carole’s.
“Who’s Ronnie Cross?”
“You got this list from the great Toad?”
“You know him?”
“Everyone knows Toad.”
“Was he at The Pink Pony that night?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Would he be here?”
“Alcohol isn’t his drug of choice, but maybe that’s why he forgot.”
“If he forgot,” Burr said.
* * *
Carole gave Burr a good night kiss at the bike rack in front of the hotel. As much as he had wanted the evening to go further, Burr thought fraternizing with someone involved in the murder, however tangentially, probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. On the other hand, all she had done was find Jimmy Lyons’ body. What could be the harm in seeing her again.
* * *
At four in the afternoon, Burr and Zeke drove through downtown Harbor Springs, past the Little Traverse Club and into Harbor Point. He parked in the stall next to Aunt Kitty’s silver Benz.
Burr straddled the red Huffy and ding-a-linged Norbert as he pedaled past the gate. Zeke trotted alongside. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lafayette,” said Norbert, the oldest security guard with the blackest hair and the straightest part Burr had ever seen.
Five minutes later, his aging aunt met him on the porch of Cottage 59.
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