Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Maybe,” she said softly, leaning against my shoulder. “I hope so. Now, help me get back into these jeans. I want to hold my daughter again.”

  Chapter 68

  We heated some water in a pot over the fireplace, then washed the dishes by hand. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Next, we chose our sleeping arrangements. Joe and Adam took two of the twin beds in the far bedroom. They were both snoring in minutes. Shelby asked in a sheepish voice if she could sleep with us in the queen-sized bed. She slept against the wall, Camille snuggled against her in the middle, and I took the outside edge. It turned cold when the temperature dropped overnight, but we burrowed under comforters we’d layered over the thin bedspread and were quite warm. I slept with my arms around Camille, who did the same to Shelby.

  During the night, both suffered nightmares. In spite of that, we stayed in bed almost ten hours.

  I rose in the cold cabin first, followed by Joe, who appeared in the kitchen in his stocking feet and bathrobe. He looked much better than he had the night before.

  “Got any coffee, Gus?”

  “It’s just about ready, bud. Have a seat.”

  He ambled toward the dining table and slid onto the wooden chair at the end, wincing.

  “Sore?” I poured a cup of coffee for him and another for myself.

  He took a tentative sip. “I can hardly move. I must be getting old.”

  “I’m not surprised, considering the way you flung yourself into that hole in the ice.”

  “I guess,” he said, warming his hand on the cup.

  “If you hadn’t,” I added. “Shelby would be—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

  I sat down and studied him. In spite of the terror of the preceding days, a sense of relief passed through me, reflected in his eyes, too. We shot half smiles at each other, then each took another sip of coffee.

  “Camille and I wanted to thank—”

  He interrupted me again. “Please don’t. I had no choice. I wouldn’t have been able to face myself if I’d lost another person under the ice.”

  I glimpsed his pain for a fleeting second, and then he sighed, and it was as if his legacy of guilt was expelled in one long breath. His eyes cleared, then turned toward the lake. The fog hovered thick over the ice, nudging up against the shore. A family of ducks wobbled along the edge of the ice, poking their beaks into the cracks and holes.

  “I wonder why they didn’t go south?” Joe mused.

  We watched them for a long time.

  Finally, I spoke. “I don’t want the girls to hear me, but I’ve gotta say—”

  He leaned closer. “Say what?”

  “Well, I hate to admit it, but I’m glad Greg drowned. Does that make me rotten?”

  “Heck, no. I feel the same way.”

  “Yeah?” I shifted and tried to better express my feelings. “But there’s this sick sense of righteousness that makes me almost want to crow.”

  He just looked at me. His eyes were steady and calm. “Not surprising. He was the worst of the worst.”

  I stood up and walked toward the window with my hands in my pockets. “I wonder if they’ll ever find his body.”

  “Maybe not,” Joe said. “It’s almost two hundred feet deep in the middle of the lake.”

  I refilled his empty cup, glancing at him again. A wave of gratitude washed over me. Joe had not only beaten the odds under the ice, but he’d braved his worst fear to save Shelby.

  “Joe?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You realize you’ve been set free, don’t you?”

  “What d’you mean?” He traced a design in the sugar granules on the table with his forefinger.

  “Camille suggested this last night. She said that since you saved Shelby from the ice, you’ve been redeemed. Any guilt you felt about Jeanne will dissolve. You’ve been liberated.”

  He didn’t answer right away, but played with the edges of the napkins in the holder on the table. “I do feel a little better, but I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to Jeanne. There’s just no way.”

  I laid my hand over his. “I’m sure Jeanne would forgive you. She knows you loved her. She probably was with you when you dove into the lake last night, giving you strength.”

  His eyes glistened. “You think so?” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Maybe you’re right.”

  We sat in silence for a while, drinking our coffee.

  “I saw some cracked corn in a jar in the entryway. Wanna feed those ducks?”

  He perked up. “Yeah. Let’s go outside before the rest of the gang gets up.”

  I approached the same door we’d broken into less than twenty-four hours earlier. We’d wedged it shut last night, since the lock was shattered, and I kicked the box holding it shut out of the way. Joe hesitated, then stepped out onto the porch. He stood in the cold breeze, closing his eyes and inhaling the freshness of the morning.

  “You okay?” I said.

  “Yeah. I am.”

  I grabbed the cracked corn and walked to the edge of the water. We sat on rocks, side by side.

  I handed him the jar. “Here you go.”

  He scattered grain onto the ice and called the ducks with a funny little clucking sound. They gathered, pecking at the kernels, but stayed a safe distance away from us.

  “I lost my gun and my phone out there,” he said, pointing into the fog that had just begun to lift. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “Sign? Of what?” I said.

  “I’ve been thinking of retiring. Haven’t mentioned it to Maddy, but maybe it’s time. I’d kinda like to get hitched again and just kick back.” Hope flickered through his eyes.

  I looked at him in surprise. “I can’t think of you as anything but a cop. It would take some getting used to.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  After a few minutes, he shivered. “That’s enough fresh air for me. Wanna go back inside?”

  I shrugged. I’d grabbed a sweatshirt on the way out and didn’t feel cold. “I think I’ll wait a little bit. You go in. Call me when the rest of the gang is up. I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Okay.” He trudged back to the cabin, pulling his robe tight around him.

  I turned back to the lake, where the fog had started to burn off. Sunlight appeared through a ragged hole in the clouds, glistening on the frozen surface. It was a beautiful morning.

  I scattered more corn on the ice, and the ducks continued to gorge themselves on it. I thought about George Martinelli, the owner of the cabin. We’d have to get hold of him and explain. Maybe he’d have some explaining to do to the cops, too.

  I stretched out my legs and inhaled the crisp, cold air. Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony played in my head as I looked over the lake and entertained the thought of someday buying a cabin just like this one.

  My glance dropped to the duck nearest my feet. He pecked at a watery spot on the ice. Was it a fish that swam beneath the surface in the shallow water? I stood up and gingerly placed a foot on the ice. It held. I walked a few steps. No cracking. I leaned down to look as the duck waddled a safe distance away from me.

  Greg Robinson’s face sneered at me under the glossy surface. His lips drew back in a blue grimace, and his long hair spread in ropy tendrils around his head, like a submerged Medusa.

  I stepped back involuntarily as his hand bobbed and waved beneath the ice.

  Horror was soon replaced with relief. There he was. Cold. Blue. And out of commission. For good. I looked back at the cottage, hoping Camille and Shelby would stay inside. I let out a deep, cleansing breath and went back inside.

  Chapter 69

  Shelby threw her arms around my neck when I came inside. “I need to thank you,” she said, with a ragged hitch in her voice. “I don’t know if I did it properly last night. If you guys hadn’t shown up… ”

  “Honey. All that matters is that you and your mother are safe.”

  Glancing at Joe, s
he smiled. “And you. You pulled me out of that horrid, cold lake.”

  Joe lowered his eyes. “Yeah. Er, no biggie.” He flushed and busied himself stirring cream into his coffee.

  She searched my eyes. “You were right. Greg was crazy.”

  “Morning, all.” Camille emerged from the bedroom, limping worse than the night before.

  “Oh, Mom.” Shelby was on the brink of weeping. “Your eye looks awful. It’s all purple and yellow. And it’s so puffy.”

  Camille opened her arms to enfold her daughter. “It’s not so bad. Doesn’t even hurt right now. The important thing is you’re safe.”

  “Ha. That’s what Dad just said.”

  Camille met my eyes with a smile. “Well. He makes a lot of sense. We happen to agree on a number of things.”

  Shelby collapsed onto the trestle table bench and lay her head on her arms. “Why do I feel so messed up inside?” She glanced over at the lake, and soon her face crumpled and tears washed her cheeks. “I know he was evil, but he was my father. And now he’s dead.”

  We patted her shoulders and murmured words of comfort. I flinched a little at the “father” comment, but steadied myself and tried to soothe her. He was her biological father. There was no getting around that. She sobbed for a long time, hiccupping her thoughts. Her words resonated with regret for things that could have been. Apparently, she’d had a secret hope that the man who turned his back on her for the past nine years would finally show he cared.

  Adam and Joe hung around the living room to give Shelby privacy. They both stared out the window at the flashing orange lights of the power company trucks on the road above that winched up broken poles and set new ones in the muddy ground.

  The officials would descend on us soon, and we tried to prepare for it. The only good thing was we might escape the onslaught of reporters, since the storm would likely claim the headlines and the death of one man under the ice would very likely escape their notice.

  I released Shelby to Camille, who hobbled over to the couch to sit with her. I’d seen some oatmeal, raisins, and brown sugar in the cabinets. We’d have to make do with evaporated milk.

  Adam talked with his department head on the phone, filling him in with more details. Joe listened intently, adding information to the one-sided conversation.

  I boiled the water for the oatmeal and stirred in the flakes. When they were done with the call, both cops sat on counter stools beside me.

  “They finally got in touch with Martinelli.”

  “What did he say?” Joe said.

  “Claims he’s innocent. Says he’s reborn, wanted to help start up this new church. He was shocked when he found out about Robinson.”

  “Does he know we’re squatting in his cottage?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He offered it for as long as we need it. The captain also said the state of emergency was widened last night. Half of the roads are closed after that thunderstorm. The winds did more damage to the weakened wires than the ice storm itself. He said we should stay put for another day, if possible.”

  Shelby and Camille left the living room and walked toward the far end of the cottage with their arms around each other.

  I took the opportunity to fill in Joe and Adam. “Listen. Greg’s body is right outside, under the ice near the shore.”

  Adam stood suddenly. “What?”

  I shushed him and looked nervously down the hall. “I just saw it. Right there, beyond the big rocks.” I gestured to where I’d seen the body.

  “Man,” Joe whispered. “We can’t get away from him, can we? Even in death.”

  Adam looked over his shoulder at the girls. “Guys, we can’t let them see it. They’ll flip out.”

  “Precisely.” I took the oatmeal off the stove and turned off the gas. “I’ll have to distract them when the cops get here. Maybe we’ll go for a walk if it’s safe up on the street.”

  Joe nodded. “Good idea. We’ll deal with the local authorities until they need to interview the girls.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Will they have to? I mean, you can tell them what happened, can’t you?”

  “I doubt it. They’ll want a statement from both Shelby and Camille. You know, to confirm that he kidnapped them.”

  I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Okay. We’ll get through this,” I said. “Now, who wants oatmeal?”

  Chapter 70

  The warm wind blew across the lake, lifting my hair and restoring my spirits. I smelled spring in the air, but I couldn’t quite place it. Was it the aroma of fresh new grass sprouting along a muddy dirt road? Or tightly curled leaves budding on a shiny-barked cherry tree? Maybe it was the green reeds pushing through the ice on the edge of the water.

  I leaned back against the metal bench and let myself follow the train of thought, closing my eyes and picturing purple-tipped asparagus nudging up through mulch and peas sprouting in the moist April soil. The taste of spring washed through me as my imagination soared.

  We sat on the point at the Keuka College beach. The flat piece of land featured a grassy section dotted with picnic tables, our bench, and a flagpole. The grass was muddy, the flagpole minus the flag, and the metal bench cold to the touch. Yet, as I sat flanked by my girls, I felt warm.

  Camille held my hand and gazed into the distance. Though still troubled by her recent trials, relief softened her features. On the other side, Shelby slipped her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder. She’d braided her dark hair before we left for our walk and looked like a little girl. I wondered if it was an attempt to reclaim a sense of safety, or innocence. Or both.

  She sighed, sniffled, and sighed again. I was afraid horror would plague her for years to come. Dealing with a father who’d been imprisoned for years for abusing her mother was bad enough. Now she had to come to grips with the death of the man who’d tried to kill her. The maniac had literally pulled his only daughter into the water…to spite me, the competition. I shivered, trying not to relive the moment.

  We listened to the sounds of the lake in silence. Water lapped against the rocks in a cove where the ice had melted and receded.

  The police were busy dragging Greg’s frozen body out of the water around the bend, just out of sight. Thanks to this walk, Shelby and Camille would be spared the horror of seeing his corpse near the shoreline. I’d taken them out the back door and up the steep steps to the road when the coroner’s van backed down the driveway and two scuba-suited cops headed for the shore with their ice breaking equipment.

  We’d wandered the lovely Keuka campus for an hour, spoke with a few friendly students about their school, and ended up here, at the bottom of the gently sloping campus.

  “Do you believe in Hell?” Shelby asked suddenly. When we didn’t answer right away, she blurted, “There’s no way he’s in Heaven.”

  Camille came out of her daze and leaned forward. “Wherever he is, he can’t hurt us any more, baby.”

  Shelby scowled and reached for her mother’s hand. “Yeah. Thank God.”

  And thank Joe, I thought. I stood and stretched. Shelby slid over to her mother’s side and hugged her. She looked so frail and small in Camille’s arms, reminiscent of the first day I’d seen her in the hospital bed over a year ago. Her spontaneous recovery from the coma had been miraculous. Sadly, I’d been unable to protect her from the evil bastard who’d sired her. I shook myself and tried to avoid the trap of misplaced guilt. He’d been at fault. He’d lured her away from us.

  Shelby sat up and reached for my hand. I pulled her to her feet.

  Looking into my eyes, she sighed. “I’m ready to go home, Dad.”

  We hugged each other, and the three-way embrace was solid, unified. Finally breaking apart, we linked arms with Camille in the middle.

  “Me, too. Take us home, Gus.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She reined in her emotions and straightened, standing tall. “It’s time to go home.”

  Chapter 71

  My cell chirped when we crossed
the muddy lawn behind the college chapel. I slid it out of my pocket and lifted it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Gus? It’s Adam. Can you get back here, pronto?”

  I motioned for the girls to walk ahead, turning back toward the lake to take the call privately. “What is it?”

  A black squirrel scampered past and scurried up a nearby tree.

  “We need Shelby’s statement. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “What misunderstanding?”

  “They wanna charge Joe with murder.”

  “What?”

  “I know. It’s nuts. They just need to hear from you and Shelby to corroborate the story.”

  “But Greg fell in the lake. He let himself drown,” I said.

  “I know. But they’re not talking about drowning.”

  “Adam, just give it to me straight. You’re killing me here.”

  “Sorry. They’re calling it murder because Greg was shot in the neck. With Joe’s gun.”

  “He shot him?” I said. “Underwater? How could he? Doesn’t the water slow down the bullet?”

  “Joe said he pressed the gun to Greg’s head, but when Greg struggled, the gun slipped down to his neck. He couldn’t get Shelby away from him. He had no choice.”

  I was silent for a moment, picturing the dark underwater deed. I strained to remember. Had I heard a noise under the ice? Perhaps. I might have attributed it to the ice cracking.

  “Is the coroner gone?”

  “He left about ten minutes ago.”

  “Okay. We’re on our way. Tell Joe to sit tight. We’ll straighten this all out.”

  I caught up with my wife and daughter by the Dahlstrom building. We followed the cement walkways around the building, through the parking area, and back out to the street leading down to the cottage. A warm breeze whistled through pine trees that shielded the cottage from the road.

  Two police cars sat in the driveway. We hurried down the back steps and entered the cabin, emerging into the foyer.