by Mary Logue
“Well, that’s what I was just wondering. I wouldn’t say it was really dumped. That makes the action sound careless. Whoever put it in the river, and you’d think it would have to be more than one person because that guy was heavy, didn’t want it found. They tied something to his ankle, like a concrete block or a stone. Something heavy. So they probably used a boat to get it out into deeper water.”
“It was found by Maiden Rock?”
“Yes, just south of the park. I’m wondering if it’s worth taking a look around at that wooden pier in the park and asking around the town. You never know what people see sometimes.”
“That sounds smart.”
“Yeah, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the body was put into the water quite close to where it was found.”
“How so?”
“Well, it was discovered late afternoon by some fishermen. You didn’t see the body, but by the time it was found it was bloated into a big and white object, like a buoy. Fairly easy to
spot from a distance away. It’s hard for me to imagine that it could float down the river for very long, especially on a high-traffic day like yesterday, without someone seeing it.”
“Is this, like, your case?”
“It doesn’t really work that way around here, Jeremy. We’re a team. Claire’s the head investigator, but we all help out. Everyone except her has a rotation and we do what we can while we’re on duty.”
“You going to check it out?”
Amy wondered what she might find down at the Maiden Rock Park. You just never knew what someone might have left lying around as they struggled to get a body into a boat.
* * *
Meg watched Curt walk up the driveway with her usual excitement, and an odd longing—or maybe it was yearning—that hit her below the belly button. They had decided he should park in town and walk the six blocks to Rich’s house. They weren’t taking any chances; they didn’t want anyone to notice his car. That way if Claire or Rich came home early, he could slip out her bedroom window, climb down the oak tree that rubbed against the house, and disappear into the woods behind the farm, circling around until he got back to his car. No adult the wiser.
Claire and Rich had been pretty clear with her. No boys in the house when they were gone. But where were she and Curt supposed to hang out? At the grocery store in Pepin? The library, and get shushed by the librarian who knew them and watched them like a kindly hawk? Certainly not at school. They sometimes
sat at the coffee shop, but that got expensive, and after an hour or so, they started to get dirty looks from the owner.
They could always head for the backcountry, and often they did, but parking on farm roads got a little old too. Once Mr. Swenson blocked them in with his tractor. They hadn’t noticed him at first, too busy seeing how long they could kiss without breathing, and then there he was at the window, asking them what they were doing. A rhetorical question, but for some reason one that Curt felt obliged to try to answer. “A kind of contest,” he started while Meg pinched his underarm to quiet him. She had smiled and said, “We got lost.” Keep it simple. She had learned this lesson from her mom, who told her that one of the mistakes criminals frequently make was they complicated matters and got caught in their own lies.
Meg ran down the stairs and let Curt in, even though the door wasn’t locked and he could have let himself in.
“Something to drink?” she asked. It was another beastly hot day. All she was wearing was a tank top and the shortest shorts she owned. In this kind of humid weather, she didn’t like the feel of anything on her skin.
Curt was wearing a holey t-shirt and baggy jeans. He held up his hand as if waiting to have something placed in it. “I’ll have a martini.”
“Right. Like you could even drink one if I made it for you.”
“Right. Like you could even make one.”
“We’ve got the bartending book. But I’m not sure we have all the ingredients.” Meg laughed, imagined the two of them drinking martinis together. She had had a sip of one once. The drink had tasted like gasoline.
Curt put his palm on her back, right between her shoulder blades. She loved him touching her. He didn’t do it much in public, which made it that more special when he reached out and put a hand on her in a quiet moment, especially when they weren’t just all over each other.
“A big glass of water would be fine,” he said.
“With ice?”
“Yes, please and a slice of lemon if you’ve got it.” He had pushed his voice up into a falsetto, pretending he was a socialite of some sort.
One thing Meg had noticed about Curt was that when he was nervous, he started to play act he was someone else. She found it hysterical, but also saw that it was his way of keeping himself at a distance. Sometimes she played along, sometimes she just let him go off on his own.
“Coming right up.” But before she could step into the kitchen he had slid his hand down her spine and pulled her close to him.
They kissed and she could taste the sweetness of toothpaste on his tongue and salt on his lips: an interesting combination, like a Salted Nut Roll.
“How far are we going to go today?” he asked.
“Just to the brink.”
* * *
Once she got back to the sheriff’s department from lunch with the pregnancy test in her purse, Claire could think of nothing else. It was going to be a long afternoon if she had to wait until she got home
to take it. Also, she hadn’t called Rich yet about Chet. She so hated to tell him what had happened to his good friend. She was afraid that he would blame her and, worse, she was afraid, that in this instance, he might be absolutely right.
Claire was trying to learn to not put things off. Otherwise they just became this huge glob of worry and weight on her shoulders and she walked around feeling them pressing her down all day long.
So she decided to get at least one thing over with and held the pregnancy test next to her uniform. First, she went to the bathroom and locked the door. Impatient as she was when she tore the package open, she forced herself to read all the directions. Lord knows she didn’t want to do anything wrong and get a false reading. Just as she was about to sit down on the toilet, someone knocked on the door.
“Someone’s in here,” Claire said and then realized how stupid that sounded. “It’s me, Claire. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She pulled out the dipstick or whatever it was called and as quickly as possible did the required maneuvers, letting a full stream hit the white stick.
She didn’t want whichever woman was standing outside the door to see what she was doing. But there sat the box and she didn’t want to shove the wet stick into her pocket—that might ruin the process. First she stuffed the box into the bottom of the wastebasket, then washed her hands and put several wet paper towels over it to completely cover it. She was still left with the moist stick. She carefully covered it with another paper towel and opened the door, acting as though she was still drying her hands.
Crystal, the new secretary, was waiting outside. “Hey, Claire, how’s it going today? Hot as all get out, huh?”
Just what she didn’t need. A conversation about the weather. “Yeah, sure is. It’s all yours,” she said and walked away.
When Claire sat down at her desk, still carefully holding the paper towel, she saw the sheriff headed her way. Muttering swear words under her breath, she pulled open her top drawer and put the paper towel and the stick inside.
“Claire, how’d it go at the hospital?” the sheriff asked.
For the oddest moment, she thought he was asking her about the results of her pregnancy test. She shook her head as if to chase those thoughts away and launched into her report about Chet. “They said they’d call as soon as they did an evaluation. I didn’t get to talk to him—he was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him—but the nurse said he’s pretty with it.”
“No chance of him trying something again, in the hospital, is
there?”
“I don’t think so. I made it clear that he needed to be watched. They’ve got him sedated and his room is right across the hall from the nurses’ station. So they’re keeping a pretty good eye on him. After the tests, sounds like they might even let him go tomorrow.”
“That’d be good. We need to talk to him. I think we should line up a psychiatrist to have on hand for that conversation. We need to do everything right this time.”
Claire could hear him trying not to blame her for what happened to Chet. “Yes, sir. We will.”
Her phone rang and the sheriff walked off as she answered it. “Watkins.”
“Hey,” Rich said.
For a moment, Claire thought of opening the drawer and reading the information on the stick while she was talking to him. Then she knew that might not be a good idea. One piece of bad news at a time. But would a pregnancy be bad news for Rich? He had said that Meg was enough kid for him, but she had always wondered.
“How’s your day?” she asked, stalling.
“Not too bad. I went over to Chet’s and fed the dog. Bentley wasn’t too friendly but we managed to work it out.”
“Bentley?”
“The dog. How’s Chet?”
“Well, I’ve been meaning to call you. Pretty busy here today. Chet—” Claire didn’t know how to tell Rich that Chet had tried to kill himself. She didn’t want to say it. She’d gloss over it and explain it more completely when she got home that night. “Chet didn’t do so well last night. He freaked out. Just too much for him. So he’s in the hospital now, under sedation.”
“Geez, really? I’m kinda surprised. Not that he wouldn’t be really upset by what happened, but he’s always weathered difficulties pretty well. Should I stop down to see him?”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that would be good. They’re going to have a psychiatrist talk to him, evaluate him. I think they’ve got him pretty doped up right now. He’s probably too groggy to talk.”
“What have you found out?”
“About what?”
“You know. About what happened at his house last night. I know you were going to run some tests on the guns and all. I’ve
lived with you for enough years that I know what some of the procedure is now.”
Claire felt a laugh push up her throat, but stifled it. “Nothing conclusive. They both have traces of residue on their hands, but then we know that Chet held the gun. You saw it in his hands—so that doesn’t really prove anything”
“Sorry about last night, er, this morning I guess.”
Rich was always better at apologizing than she was, but she could at least echo him. “Me too.”
“What time will I see you?”
“I won’t be too late. I’m wiped out. Not much sleep last night.”
After they hung up, Claire sat and stared at the drawer. She knew the test was finished. In under a minute, in the privacy of your own work bathroom, you could find out if your life was going to change beyond recognition.
She didn’t know what she would do if she was pregnant, but she couldn’t see having a baby at her age. She had a feeling Meg would be fine with it. Her daughter might even think it was funny, exciting and possibly a little ridiculous. That’s what Claire would think about it if it were happening to another woman her own age. She had heard of women in their mid-forties having children, but she couldn’t imagine retiring and still having a kid at home.
Her guess was that Rich would be pleased if she found out she was pregnant. He had been a good father to Meg, even though she was not his own child. He liked all the parts of being a couple better than Claire did: the joint checking account, the deciding what car they needed next, the divvying up of the
chores, even the compromises. Especially the compromises. He did all that stuff better than she did.
She could just see his face looking down on his own progeny with pride. He’d probably be better at changing diapers than she was. At least breast-feeding would be out of his scope.
She pulled the drawer open and yanked the paper towel off the stick.
A negative sign.
It was negative and her heart sunk and then bobbed back up again. No baby blues.
Not pregnant, which meant she was starting to slip and slide into menopause. No babies ever again. Looked like that part of her life was truly over.
CHAPTER 8
Want to go swimming?” Amy teased Bill as they drove across the railroad tracks in Maiden Rock and headed down to the park and the beach. She knew how much he hated the water. He didn’t even own a swim suit. She herself needed to lose about twenty pounds before she’d look decent in a suit so maybe it was good he didn’t like to swim.
Bill squinted his eyes in what she liked to call his safari look. “I did my one swim for the summer. Plus, the water is turning that weird shade of green it gets in later summer.”
“Some kind of harmless algae,” Amy reassured him.
“I’m not going in. No way,” Bill said.
“Not even if we see something out in the water, say just ten feet or so off the dock? You wouldn’t jump in and retrieve that?”
“No, but I’d hold your clothes for you so you could do it. I’d be there to pull you back out of the water.”
“What a guy.” He slowly drove the squad car closer to the dock. “Why don’t you stop here? Who knows, there might be tire prints or something. Wouldn’t want to mess them up.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much TV. Doesn’t happen like that in real life. Besides, we don’t even know if this is where they put the body into the water.”
“It’s my very educated guess. As someone famous says in a much fancier way, the simplest solution is most often right. I’m hoping that whoever dumped our John Doe’s body was A, in a hurry, B, drunk, C, careless and D, assuming it would never be found. If any or all of those factors are true, we might find something.”
Bill looked over at her with an impressed expression on his face. “You’re so organized. I bet you were good at school. You should have been a school teacher, not a cop.”
Amy thought back to her two years at a junior college before she went into the police academy. “I thought about it, but cops make more money and get to retire earlier. Plus I figured I’d get to meet more guys.”
“Now the truth comes out.”
She giggled as she stepped out of the squad car.
They both looked out toward the dock and the water. There had been no rain for over a week so Amy didn’t really expect to see any tire prints. Slowly they walked toward the dock, searching the ground. The few tire marks that were clear looked like they had been made by bikes. Amy saw twist-off tops, cigarette butts, and a gum wrapper, but nothing that looked out of place. When they got to the dock, they took a few steps down it, peering into the water on either side.
“I’m guessing he worked with his hands, our bloated floater,” Bill said. “He was a big guy. Construction. Maybe a farmer, but I doubt it. Otherwise he’d be known around here.”
“The medical examiner did say his hands were well callused. So good guess.”
“Hey, not a guess. I can play Sherlock Holmes too, noticing the odd detail, figuring out the occupation of said dead body. Just put a big hat on me and stuff a pipe in my mouth and I’ll tell you what’s what.”
“I’d rather not.” Amy laughed. “I can see construction being a possibility. He did something that caused him to get cut up from time to time. The ME showed me a couple deep cuts on his hands that had healed over. So whatever he did, he’d been at it for a while.”
“Weird that he was naked.” Bill scuffed his shoe on the wooden slats of the dock.
“Maybe he was naked when he was killed.”
“What, like he got caught in the act?”
“Can’t rule anything out yet. But I guess I figure that whoever dumped him just didn’t want us to be able to figure anything out from his clothes.”
“At least they didn’t cut his finger
s off.”
“Well, that’s for sure.” Amy walked to the end of the dock. Stretching out into the water about forty feet, it was a removable dock that was taken out of the water in late fall and stored someplace. Boats were not permanently moored there, but visitors to the town often tied up to the dock for the day. Fishermen would tie up and wander up to Ole’s for a brew. She checked the wooden planks carefully although she didn’t expect to find anything. The wind and people’s feet would have knocked any evidence into the water.
When they reached the end of the dock, Bill grabbed her and acted as if he was going to push her in.
“Don’t you dare.” She squirmed in his strong hands.
“I’m your superior officer. If I say jump, you have to jump.” He held her close to the side of the dock.
“Only if there’s a good reason.”
“I’d come up with one mighty quick.” He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck, then let her go.
She had asked Bill to not be intimate with her during work hours so she forced herself to ignore his kiss. “Did you bring the binoculars?”
“In the car. Along with my polarized sunglasses,” he said. “As my sub-ordinate, I think you better run and get them.”
“Okay, but don’t find anything without me.”
“I’ll wait.” He sat down at the end of the dock and took his shoes off.
When Amy came back with the binoculars and glasses, Bill was dangling his very white feet in the water. She stood above him, scanning the shallow bay that formed in the curve of Maiden Rock. While the binoculars cut the glare on the water, they could do nothing about the green algae that was crowding into the area.
She wished she could tell how the water circulated in the harbor. “What if we got a small buoy, put it in the water about twenty or thirty feet out and watched which way it floated? That might give us some idea of the current here and we could extrapolate backwards and find the weight he was tied to.”
Bill laughed. “Great idea, but I doubt it would work. Too many factors. I’d say we look around the shore a little more, then head back to Durand. I think our little field trip is going to be a bust, Amster.”
