Dead Deceiver

by Victoria Houston

  “Here is what I’ve decided,” Patience was saying. “Since I’m willing to spend hundreds of thousands from our family trust on Wheedon Technical College, why not spend some of that money on … on me and Charles? Maybe I can afford to be selfish for a change. So we’re going to go into couples’ therapy and see if we can work things out—even if Charles has to spend some time in prison. You know, I’ve never seen a therapist. Kind of looking forward to it.”

  She paused and looked around at each of them, “You people must think I’m absurd.”

  “I think you’ll feel better knowing all the facts and giving your marriage a try,” said Osborne. “I went through therapy during rehab at Hazelden and it changed my life. None of us are perfect.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Lew with a grin. Her face turned sober as she tipped a pen back and forth in her fingers. Osborne could see her deciding whether or not to speak. “Patience,” she said finally, “at the risk of making things even worse than they are at this moment, I feel like I must warn you. Very likely Charles is a compulsive womanizer. I don’t know that you—or therapy—can change that.”

  “I am very aware of Charles’ emotional weaknesses,” said Patience. “When a person grows up without a strong mother—or a warm mother figure—that can happen. I know how that works. Still, worth trying. Don’t you think?”

  “As long as you know what you’re getting into,” said Lew.

  “Thank you, everyone. I appreciate the support.”

  “Patience,” said Lew, “I am asking the FBI to take over the case. You have inherited a brother-in-law who, as you know now, is a wanted felon. Dani and I will monitor the computer network one last time tonight but the federal agents will need to meet with you when they arrive. Just a heads up.”

  “Chief Ferris, have Beth or Dani ever seen Charles’ brother on the campus? Do we know what he looks like? Is he really identical to Charles?” asked Patience.

  “If you are worried that you may have mistaken him for your husband, I doubt it,” said Bruce, walking over to hand her a photo of Dick Mason.

  “To answer your question,” said Lew, “No. So far the only men that have been seen on campus during the time Dani has been monitoring the system have been the maintenance crew. I was with her last evening and—”

  “What time was this?” asked Patience.

  “Just after ten last night, why?”

  “The college janitors leave by six,” said Patience. “It’s in their union contract. I wonder who she saw?”

  “Whoa,” said Lew. “That’s good to know. I’ll get on that right away. Bruce, may I have one of Dick Mason’s mug shots? I’m meeting Dani at the college at seven tonight and I’ll run a photo by her.

  “Will everyone excuse me now? It’s imperative I get hold of the FBI. I’ll need to brief them and that may take some time. Everyone except you, Dr. Osborne. I have one more question for you.”

  “Well, Doc,” said Lew after Bruce and Patience had left, “right after I talk to the FBI, if there’s still time, I’d like to sneak in a run by the tournament. I can only take an hour but I haven’t seen it yet and I refuse to have done all this work around the tournament and not get at least a glimpse. Want to grab a snowmobile helmet and join me?”

  “Sure, but why the helmet, Lew?”

  “The front desk sent an email that Polaris just dropped off two new snowmobiles for the department. Every year they give us new ones to replace the ones they contributed last year.

  “I need a trial run on one of the new sleds in case we have an emergency. So I thought we could ride over to the tournament and watch a little of the happenings. Maybe get a brat and a soda while we’re there? Then we’ll bring the sleds back and drive on out to the college for a few hours. And, if all goes according to plan, end the evening at your place?”

  “Lewellyn, you deserve a break and a brat. Meet you back here at five o’clock.”

  If there hadn’t been so much ice on the sidewalk, Osborne would have skipped to his car.

  CHAPTER 29

  The snowmobile trail snaked along the east side of Loon Lake, along wetlands of tag alder, tamarack and black spruce where homes had never been built. The brand-new Polaris sled that Osborne was on surprised him. It hugged the trail on curves and gave a low hum rather than the traditional roar.

  Never having been a big fan of the “motorhead” sport, he hadn’t expected to find the ride so enjoyable. But tonight the air was a delicious crisp-cold and his helmet, issued by the Loon Lake Police Department, fit comfortably, was designed for good peripheral visibility and, best of all, it was not fogging up. He had no trouble keeping Lew, who was outfitted in a black snowmobile suit with the bright red Loon Lake Police insignia on the back of her helmet, in plain sight.

  Ten minutes from the station, they crossed Highway 17, forked left at the trail crossing and were climbing the hill that overlooked the ice fishing tournament. At the top, Lew pulled to one side of the trail and braked to a stop. Getting off her sled, she walked back to Osborne, lifting the plexiglass face plate of her helmet as she joined him.

  “Oh my gosh, Doc, look at that. Have to be eight, maybe ten thousand people down there.” Together they stood in silence gazing at the pageant below.

  Two huge tents were brightly lit and teeming with people in boots, fur hats, snow pants and puffy winter jackets. Across the top of the tents, waving in the stiff wind, were the colorful national flags of participating teams. The RVs of food vendors were parked outside the entrances to the tents and the aroma of bratwurst simmering in beer and onions drifted all the way up the hill to where Lew and Osborne were standing. A Leininkugel Beer truck was positioned next to the food vendors, its speakers blasting a Willie Nelson tune. Pools of light out on the lake illuminated the fishing areas and a steady stream of people could be seen wandering between the tents and the action out on the ice.

  The parking lot was packed with vehicles, including row upon row of snowmobiles. Off to the right a quarter mile from where they were standing, Osborne could see the lights from the ice shanties, which had been set up in alternate rows.

  “Gee,” said Osborne as he searched for the big bluegill, “I wonder how Ray did in the final competition this evening? That ice shanty is so different from the rest—the judges had to love him or hate him.”

  “Give him a call on your cell phone, Doc. See if it’s okay for us to ride over there and check it out. I haven’t seen Ray’s work of art yet and Suzanne is anxious to hear—hold on, my cell just went off.”

  As Lew unzipped the pack she was wearing around her waist, she yanked off her helmet and handed it to Osborne. “Yes? What! Beth, we’ll be right there. Where are you? Meet you in the lobby to the main building. Don’t do anything until we get there.”

  “Switchboard,” said Lew into her phone in the next instant. “Marlaine, this is Chief Ferris. Emergency. I need backup at Wheedon College in the lobby of the main building. Got that? Get Todd and Roger out there, I don’t care what they’re doing.

  “If you can’t reach them immediately, call the sheriff’s office. Call the EMTs. We got a possible shooting victim and a suspect who may be armed—they should approach with care. Same for Roger and Todd: approach with care.”

  “Lew?” asked Osborne, stunned.

  “That was Beth. She just got a garbled call from Dani that was cut off. She heard shuffling noises and what sounded like a gunshot then the phone went dead. Beth was at home but she’s in her car now on her way to the college.”

  “You want us to ride back to the station for your car? Call for a squad car?”

  “No, Doc. This trail connects to one that leads right to the college. Be faster by sled—especially with the traffic in town. But we haven’t installed lights and sirens on these sleds yet so be careful at the crossings.”

  “Got it.” Osborne hit the throttle and hoped to hell he could keep up.

  Through the darkness, they sped. Twice other riders approached from the opposi
te direction but the trail was wide and Lew did not slow. A final stretch through the forest surrounding the college flew by. Twice Osborne took corners a little too fast but the sled grabbed and he managed to avoid tackling a tree headfirst. Determined to stay close behind Lew, he refused to consider the consequences of losing control.

  Beth beat them to the college by less than a minute and was just entering the main lobby after jumping from her car so fast she left the engine running.

  “This way!” she shouted as she ran into the administrative office where Dani had been monitoring the network. A purse was on the floor next to the desk holding a wide-screened desktop computer.

  “Where is she?” asked Lew.

  “I’ll know in a second,” said Beth, bending over the desk, her fingers frantic on the keyboard. “There, I see it. A computer in the auditorium box office is in use. Has to be the one.

  “I told her and told her not to try to see who was online,” cried Beth as they ran down the hallway. Both Lew and Osborne’s boots were wet with snow, which made it difficult to run too fast without slipping and falling on the tile floor.

  The box office was located to the right of a long bank of windows in front of which sat the cafeteria tables where students ate their meals. Beth flipped light switches that illuminated the cafeteria and turned on the spotlights over the outdoor eating areas used in the summer. Closed off for the winter, the outdoor dining area was lined with snow banks. Just this side of the snow banks and immediately outside the windows was a snowmobile trail that circled the school.

  Osborne looked through the windows at an Arctic Cat snowmobile parked near the double doors into the cafeteria and shining bright red under the spotlights. A tall figure in a black helmet and black snowmobile suit was just swinging a leg over the sled and the sudden roar of a full throttled engine could be heard.

  “Ohmygod, she’s been hurt!” Beth was on her knees beside Dani, who lay on the floor just inside the office. One quick look at the girl and Osborne had one thought: CPR.

  “Dani? Dani? Can you hear me?” he said, gently pushing Beth aside and brushing the girl’s mass of curls back from her face. A long silver clasp fell to the floor.

  “Looks like a bullet may have grazed her skull,” he said, pressing his fingers against her neck. “She’s got a pulse. She’s breathing. Do we have anything we can use to put pressure on this wound? A scarf? Anything?”

  “Here,” said Beth, handing over her woolen gloves. “Will these work?”

  “Yes,” said Osborne, preparing to hold them tight against the girl’s head until the ambulance arrived.

  Lew, hovering over the stricken girl, said, “Dani, do you hear me? We’re here. You’ll be okay.”

  A groan and one foot shifted.

  “Beth, you take the gloves and stay with her—press tight on that wound,” said Lew. “The EMTs will be here any second. Don’t move her whatever you do.”

  Lew turned as Todd burst through the door. “Todd, help Beth. Doc and I are after the suspect who’s on a sled.”

  “But, Chief, your squad car—” said Todd.

  “I got those new sleds. They’re good.” Lew was already moving towards the cafeteria and Osborne followed, trying to buckle his helmet, which he had pulled halfway off thinking he would be doing CPR. “If we’re lucky, we’ll catch him.

  “Doc, out this door and around to the front. We’ll get to the sleds faster on the snow.” Stepping outside, Lew paused for a second to check the direction of the fleeing snowmobile. A single bouncing light could be seen just entering the woods past the parking lot. “Would you believe he’s on the same trail we took out here? Let’s hope something slows him down … Stay close behind me if you can—and, please, don’t skid out.”

  As their sleds raced through the night, Osborne struggled to remember where he had seen an Arctic Cat like the one they were chasing. He knew it had to be in the last few days. Was it up at the fishing tournament? Or driving by Ralph’s Sporting Goods where they always have new sleds on outdoor display?

  Wait—it was in back of that pick-up truck at the old Russian camp near Walter’s. Now he remembered: Ray had commented on how it was one of the new racing sleds.

  Great, thought Osborne. These Polaris models are work-horses—not racing sleds. Fat chance we have to catch this guy.

  CHAPTER 30

  Struggling to stay close behind the beam from Lew’s headlight, Osborne was pretty sure Lew was right—they were backtracking the trail they had taken to the college. When they crossed Highway 17, he was sure. Fortunately there were only two cars in sight and they were a distance down the road.

  Lew never braked as the runners on her sled ground their way across the concrete roadway. Osborne was within twenty feet and dodged a snow bank left by the plows to land back on the trail.

  Half a mile down the trail, Lew forked left to head up the steep hill they had come down on their way out to the college. In spite of holding his throttle wide open, Osborne’s sled slowed going up hill. Lew was gaining on the other rider even as Osborne fell behind. Weight was making the difference.

  When they crested the hill, there was no stopping to admire the throng below. Lew flew down towards the lakeside with the red Arctic Cat less than a hundred yards ahead. Osborne could see people standing next to the trail where it ended at the tournament parking lot. Snowmobiles were parked at the bottom and Osborne hoped that no one would step into the path of the speeding sleds.

  But the rider on the Arctic Cat swerved off the trail onto the snowy slope behind the tents with Lew gaining on him. Beams from their headlights bounced as they landed on the snow-packed temporary road that led off to the right in the direction of the ice shanties, standing out in the glare of spotlights.

  Just beyond the ice shanties he could see dozens of snowmobiles scooting along the trails that crisscrossed the lake. The Arctic Cat appeared headed for a cluster of snowmobilers gathered in front of a small stage that had been set up, but the rider made a sharp left before reaching the bystanders to disappear between two of the ice shanties. Lew did not follow.

  Instead, she dropped off the road onto the lake to follow an outside path ringing the display of ice shanties. A good bet as Osborne saw the Arctic Cat zoom from the rear of one of the little huts out onto the lake. Both sleds were now off trail with Lew maybe fifty yards behind.

  Osborne had not made up the distance he’d lost going uphill. He struggled to keep Lew’s headlight in sight against the competing beams from the other sleds.

  The lake surface was treacherous with mounds of ice rocks and shards pushed up by wind and weather and hidden by the snow. The pockets of ice were uncompromising when hit.

  He knew of too many riders who had been killed or injured when their sleds collided with mounds like these, which were impossible to see in the darkness until you were right on them. The same was true for patches of open water over springs in the lakebed, places that never froze over. No wonder snowmobile clubs posted signs featuring the universal icon for danger and reading “STAY ON THE TRAIL.”

  Osborne’s sled bounced hard but landed on both runners. Then a rough bump nearly knocked him off and he had to throttle down to stay upright. He made a mental note never to do this again. The dark was all encompassing now as they had left the popular trails behind and were across the lake near Hogan’s Landing, which was a small island of pine trees and one bar. Guarded by submerged boulders, it was a famed honey hole for fans of smallmouth bass.

  The headlights from the Arctic Cat and Lew were pinpoints ahead of him and they disappeared as they rounded the island. Osborne gunned his sled to catch up, hoping he wouldn’t lose them.

  Already he was worrying over what might happen if Lew caught up with the rider. Was she armed? Was she wearing her Sig Sauer nine millimeter even though she had considered their visit to the ice fishing tournament “a break?”

  The figure he had seen mounting the Arctic Cat was tall, intimidating. Dick Mason’s mug shots showed hi
m to be a man of hefty, muscled build quite unlike his twin. And he was an escaped felon, armed. Osborne pushed on.

  Lew saw something strange as she raced after the fleeing sled: he had been just ahead of her by less than a hundred yards—but he was gone. Vanished. She slowed and as she did so, her headlight caught the ripples in the black water ahead. Yanking hard to the right, she hit the throttle and felt her sled slide sideways before gaining traction.

  The snow-covered stump never budged even though her sled hit it with enough force to send Lew flying from the driver’s seat. Airborne, she thought, this is not good, and waited. She woke lying on one side, helmet still on. She tried each limb but nothing seemed broken. Sitting up, she pulled off her helmet to see where she was. In the distance, she saw nothing but darkness.

  “Doc?” she called. She got to her knees, then her feet. As her eyes adjusted she saw that she was close to the shore of Hogan’s Island, the Polaris sled crumpled nearby. She staggered out onto the lake, terrified that Doc had not seen the open water. After charging through twenty feet of deep snow, she hit a snowmobile trail and ran.

  Rounding the island, Osborne’s headlight shone on something that gleamed black: open water. Brakes screaming, he veered left. The sled stalled out and he jumped off, tearing at his helmet. He stared at the gaping hole of open water: eight feet wide and maybe twelve feet long. Large enough to swallow one, maybe two snowmobiles.

  Without hesitating and refusing to think the worst, he pulled off his mitts and unzipped his suit, jamming his hand inside to grab his cell phone. His phone had a quirky way of going dark right after he opened it. He couldn’t see the numbers to call 911. Trying, he mistakenly hit the button for Ray. In an instant he heard, “Yo, Doc, come on by—”

  “Ray, call 911. Get the sheriff and dive rescue team. Lew’s sled just went down in open water.”

  “Where?”

  “Across the lake from you—just past the eastern end of Hogan’s Landing.”

  Ray’s phone clicked off.