The Damage Done

by P J Parrish

  He slid from the bed, spilling the papers from the accordion file to the floor. Following the rush of cold air, he made his way to the window and slammed it shut. Then he found the bathroom light and turned it on.

  His heart was pounding as he moved unsteadily back to the bed. He gathered up the papers and stuffed them in the accordion folder. For a moment, he just stood there, his breath slowing, but something hard and sharp—something he had never felt before—was still knotted in his gut.

  He had to get out of here.

  He rummaged in his duffel for a sweatshirt, pulled on his sneakers and was quickly out the front entrance of the lodge. He followed the sound of the waves down to the lake.

  A half-moon had snuck out from behind a cluster of clouds, casting the shoreline in a misty white aura. It was enough for him to see where the white sand met the black water.

  He started to run.

  His body grew hot, his lungs grew cold. But still he ran, like a maniac across the soft sand, toward the glow of the moon, toward the barely visible jagged rise of rocks far ahead.

  The unknown terror that had awakened him was finally easing but still he ran on. Finally, he stopped, bent over, hands on his knees, and gulped in the icy air.

  As his muscles cooled and heart slowed, he started to regain some balance, but he knew it was still there, this thing he could feel but not describe. This hard, painful thing that was vaguely familiar but incredibly distant.

  He straightened and looked around. The moon had slipped away and he stood in the darkness, except for the tiny amber light of the inn far away along the water’s edge.

  He turned and started toward it, the wet sand pulling at his shoes, the cold air biting at his face.

  It was a long and dark walk back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sleep hadn’t come easy after his run on the beach, and for hours he had lain awake in the dark of his room. Finally, just after seven, he found his way back to the bar, taking the accordion file with him. Louis took a table near the window and ordered an omelet. A young woman set a mug of coffee at his elbow. It was probably the best coffee he’d had in years. Or maybe it was just the troubled night. Or the chilly air of Lake Superior that seemed to permeate everything up here.

  He moved aside the condiments and opened the accordion file. He started with the responding officers’ reports. The first deputy had described the location of the mine, the size and color of the box, and had taken measurements that placed the candle box at a junction about fifty yards inside the entrance. An analysis of the candle box showed it had been constructed around the turn of the century, that it was not unique to the area, and not traceable beyond its company logo. Someone had noted the candle company shut down around the time the mine closed in the 1920s.

  The second deputy had interviewed the downstate hikers who had found the bones. Louis wondered if there was anything to gain from talking to them again, but their contact information was twelve years old. It might take a while to find them.

  The preliminary medical examiner’s report, written by a man who had arranged transport of the bones to the Blue Water lab in Houghton, contained nothing of interest.

  Louis turned to the autopsy report from Blue Water. It was long with attachments and diagrams. The boys had been found as they probably died, forming two intact skeletons lying in the candle box. A couple chemical tests appeared to have been administered with no conclusive results. No one could state an exact cause of death, as there was no soft tissue to examine and no sign of blunt force trauma to the skulls.

  There was one interesting detail. Based on bone size and maturation, the examiner had determined the height of both boys at approximately three-foot-nine inches. But based on dental examinations, they were not the same age. On Johnny Doe #1, the permanent incisor teeth and molars had already erupted, along with the first molars, which set the boy’s age as between seven and eight. On Johnny Doe #2, the front baby teeth were still intact, which set his age at about five.

  “Your breakfast, officer.”

  When he looked up at the young waitress, her brown eyes slipped to the dental chart on the autopsy page. She stared at it like most folks stare at an accident scene—uncomfortable but riveted. He turned the paper face down.

  “Can I get a coffee refill, please?” he asked.

  After she left, Louis arranged his food and the reports on the table so he could read and eat at the same time. It appeared that Nurmi’s predecessor Halko had conducted most of the investigation himself. He canvassed the few residents who lived within twenty miles of the Gray Wolf mine and interviewed other hikers. He had put out missing persons alerts to Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, and had also made a note indicating he contacted the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but there was no follow-up report.

  It didn’t take long for the dates on Halko’s report to grow farther apart and by early 1981, except for the occasional noting of a dead-end phone tip, it appeared that Halko had given up.

  Louis finished his toast and set his plate on the adjoining table. As he began to put away the reports, Mark Steele’s words came back to him.

  No one has ever been charged or convicted for this crime. You’re going to change that.

  He was going to change that.

  Twelve years ago, no one knew what DNA was. Blood could only be typed, or hairs could only be categorized by race. In today’s forensic lab, the stained box could be a treasure chest of evidence. All he had to do was get the bones and the box back to the state lab and under the eyes of a forensic anthropologist.

  He gathered up his papers, laid some money on the table, and went back to his room. He wasn’t sure he would head back to Lansing today, but he packed his duffel anyway and loaded the Explorer. As he climbed in, he remembered he owed Camille a check-in phone call.

  He picked up the cellular phone from its cradle between the seats, studied it for a second then hit the ON button. He got a connection and dialed. When Camille answered, it took him a moment to get past the soft huskiness because although the words were sheer business, it sounded just like how Joe talked to him in the darkness of her bedroom.

  “Good morning, Louis. It’s nice to hear your voice again. Captain Steele has been waiting for you to check in.”

  “Please give him my apologies. I got in to Eagle River late and went to sleep early and—”

  “Well, I will give him your apologies but not your excuses. Now, what’s your status?”

  Louis felt reprimanded but let it go. The woman was absolutely right. “I plan to make arrangements to have the bones exhumed and transferred to Marquette for examination. Can you tell me who has the authority to—”

  “You have the authority to do anything you wish with the remains, Louis,” Camille said. “I’ll start the paperwork for exhumation and fax it to the SO up there for your signature and get the ball rolling.”

  “Thank you. I’ll have to get you Sheriff Nurmi’s fax—”

  “Already have it. Anything else you need, Louis?”

  It felt good to have someone at your fingertips who could tear through the red tape. “Nothing else right now, but I owe you one, Camille,” he said.

  “Bring me a cinnamon sweet roll from the Hilltop Restaurant in L’Anse instead. You have to go right through there on your way home.”

  His mind conjured up images of a curvy woman sitting under silk sheets, smoking a cigarette and nibbling on a frosted cinnamon bun.

  “You got it.”

  Louis hung up and went back inside to get a coffee to go, leaving a thank-you note scrawled on a napkin for Paul. He headed out of town to the cemetery he had seen on his drive in. Evergreen Cemetery was small, but he suspected it had a children’s section. He found it in a pine-sheltered corner called God’s Cradle.

  Slowly, he moved along the row of small headstones. A few were as old as the late 1800s, one as new as this year, 1991. He counted twenty-seven, but none was unmarked or bore the names of Johnny or Jimmy Doe.

&n
bsp; He wondered if the bones had been buried in the pauper’s section, but a quick walk through the entire cemetery showed what he suspected—that in a town as small as Eagle River, people would show the same respect to a poor dead man as one with means.

  Back in the Explorer, Louis checked the case file again. The only note about the bones disposition was an entry on the autopsy report that the remains had been returned to the sheriff’s office. But a check of Sheriff Halko’s paperwork showed that no one had accepted the bones back into the county’s possession or that the county, state, or anyone had paid for a burial.

  Louis closed the file and stared out the windshield at the headstones. This was not good. He had to have the remains examined. But where the hell were they?

  Sheriff Nurmi was eating pancakes and reading the newspaper when Louis walked in his office at nine.

  “Your office faxed me a request to transfer the boys’ remains to the custody of the state,” Nurmi said. “I’ll call the crew down in Hancock to come up and—”

  “The remains aren’t in Evergreen Cemetery,” Louis said.

  Nurmi set his fork down. “You check every grave? They’d be in with the babies, you know, in the back.”

  “I found that section, but they aren’t there. I checked every headstone. No Jimmy or Johnny Does.”

  “You look back through the file?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Damn Halko anyway,” Nurmi said. “He was as useless as they come when it came to organizing things.”

  “Is there anyone here who might remember? Another deputy? A lab tech?” Louis asked.

  “Doubtful. I had to clean house after Halko died, so all my officers have only been here a few years. But I’ll do some asking around.”

  “We’ll have to search burial records,” Louis said. “How many cemeteries are there in your county?”

  “Twelve, counting the one over on Isle Royale,” Nurmi said. “I’ll get a man over to the courthouse today. If we draw a blank, we can expand the search to the whole peninsula.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. Louis knew Nurmi was thinking the same thing he was—that the bones could be lost forever, either in some distant cemetery, in the basement of a municipal building, or in a storage locker abandoned by Blue Water labs.

  Monica came in and picked up Nurmi’s breakfast tray.

  “Sheriff, I remember there was a newspaper article about the community holding a memorial service,” Louis said. “Maybe someone remembers something about that.”

  Nurmi nodded. “I can get the word out to the local churches.”

  “You might want to talk to Reverend Grascoeur, too,” Monica said.

  “That old guy up in Copper Harbor?” Nurmi asked.

  “Ya, I remember there was talk about him coming down here to do a special service around that time.”

  Nurmi waved a hand. “He’s into that new age junk. Last time I saw him, he was holding a service under the northern lights at twenty below. Harmonica something, it was called.”

  “Harmonic Convergence,” Louis said.

  “Ya, that’s it. Crazy stuff from a crazy man.”

  Louis didn’t tell Nurmi that some of his best leads had come from people who weren’t considered normal. Like Danny Dancer, the savant on Mackinac Island who had held a dead girl’s image in his memory for twenty years. Or Amy Brandt, the girl from Hell, Michigan, who claimed to have lived a past life as a slave.

  “I’d like to talk to Grascoeur,” Louis said.

  “Suit yourself,” Nurmi said. “Give the reverend a ring, Monica, and see if he’s still around.”

  “Will do,” Monica said and left.

  Louis glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost ten, not enough time to see this minister and make the long drive back to Lansing. And there was no way he was going back to Steele and tell him the bones were missing. He made a mental note to call Camille and alert her he was staying another night. Which would give him time to check out one more thing.

  “Sheriff, the mine where the remains were found,” Louis said. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “Gray Wolf? Well, the mining operation closed down back in the twenties,” Nurmi said. “The shafts were all grated off and the main entrance is boarded up.”

  “Is it far from here? I’d like to see it.”

  Nurmi gave Louis a dubious look then leaned over his desk toward the open door. “Monica, is there a county map somewhere out there?”

  “You got one on the wall behind you.”

  “I mean one of those gas station fold-up kinds.” He looked back at Louis. “It’s not far off the highway on your way up to Copper Harbor.”

  Monica came in, handed Nurmi a map, and gave Louis a piece of paper. “There’s no answer at Reverend Grascoeur’s church but here’s the number and address.”

  Louis took the paper and Monica left. Nurmi spread the map out on his desk, turning it so Louis could see. He gave him directions and made a large X on a spot on the shore of a place called Bete Grise Bay.

  “Are there any signs for it?” Louis asked.

  “Nope, just some rocks and old ruins and not even much of that anymore.”

  “How do I find the entrance then?”

  “Stop in at the Bear Belly Bar and ask for Dave. He’ll show you where the mine is. I’ll call him and tell him you’re coming.”

  Louis leaned on the desk and stared down at the map. No towns, no landmarks. Nothing but green denoting empty land and, below that, the yawning, blue expanse of Lake Superior.

  “The killer knew the old mine was there,” Louis said. “Which means he was probably from around here.”

  “But I don’t think the boys were.”

  Louis was about to ask Nurmi why when it hit him. Everyone up here knew everyone else. News of two local boys going missing would have spread like wildfire. There would have been a report from distraught parents, names in the local paper, mention of it in the police files. Yet there was nothing.

  Nurmi folded the map and handed it to Louis. “The grounds are pocked with old shafts that have caved in. Most have been secured with grates or boards, but some haven’t. You watch your step down there.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dave from the Bear Belly Bar didn’t seem to have any trouble steering his beat-up Dodge Ram Truck down the rutted road tunneled with thick trees. But following him in his Explorer, Louis had to work to keep up.

  Dave left him at a dead-end with directions to hike about a quarter mile south and watch for a large rock outcropping shaped like a hawk’s beak. Dave gave him a final you-crazy-fuck shake of the head then disappeared back down the road in a spray of mud.

  Louis grabbed his Maglite and headed into the dense brush. If there was a path, he couldn’t see it, so he took it slow, picking his way over fallen trees and pushing through birch saplings. Twenty minutes in, he was breathing hard and stopped, sure he was lost. He looked up at the sun to get his bearings. That’s when he felt it—a rush of air on his neck, as if someone had exhaled too close behind him. Except there was no wind stirring the trees and this air was ice cold.

  It had to be the mine entrance. He turned in a tight circle, then felt the cold air again, stronger, coming from his left. He pushed through the trees then stopped abruptly.

  At his feet was a metal grate, almost hidden in the dead leaves. It was maybe four feet across and rusted through in the middle. If he had taken two more steps, he would have fallen in.

  Letting out a hard breath, he moved carefully around the grating, following the stream of cold air.

  He pushed through some brush and stopped.

  It wasn’t what he had expected. But then maybe he had seen too many westerns. Hollywood’s idea of mines were dusty tunnels with railroad tracks leading in, flanked by villages of tin shacks. This was a fifty-foot canyon of high jagged rock, the ground strewn with boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles. There was a giant maw in the rock, crisscrossed with one X of weathered boards.

&
nbsp; As Louis went closer to the entrance, he saw a tin sign nailed on one board. It was so crusted with rust he could barely make out the words.

  DANGER OPEN MINE SHAFT

  UNSTABLE ROCK FORMATION

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

  BY OWNER GRAY WOLF MINE COMPANY

  He switched on the Maglite and shined it into the entrance. The beam picked up rough rock walls, a copper-dusted floor, and then disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.

  Louis leaned in to get a better look. There was a sudden crack and the board under his arm gave way. He drew back quickly. The board was hanging by one rusted nail. The other board, he realized, was just as flimsy. He could get in.

  If he wanted to.

  He took his radio from his belt. He knew he couldn’t reach Camille, but it was just as well. He didn’t really want to alert her and Steele to what he was about to do. He changed frequencies to the Keweenaw SO and Monica answered.

  “The sheriff just left for a doctor’s appointment, Louis,” she said. “He’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Okay, just alert him that I’m at Gray Wolf and I’m just going in a few feet and take a look.”

  “He’s not going to like that.”

  “I know.” He paused. “I’ll radio again when I come out. If you don’t hear from me, well, send someone out here.”

  As he replaced his radio, it occurred to him that a few years ago, he would not have thought to advise anyone that he was about to do something risky, like enter an abandoned copper mine. But he had Lily and Joe now, and that had changed a lot of things in his life.

  He pulled off the broken boards and stepped into the mine. The cold air flowed over him and copper-colored dust motes swam in the Maglite beam. The shaft was domed, maybe ten feet across and eight feet high. The walls looked like they had been gouged with a giant claw. The ground was solid rock so he was able to move with more assurance than he had outside.