Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler

by Victoria Houston

  “She did? Then why was he here?”

  “I assumed he was waiting for you,” said the woman. “Wasn’t he?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lew sat on a fallen log, finishing up her notes while Bruce and a colleague worked their way around the body, scouring the shoreline and river shallows for evidence. “Chief, did Ray find anything when he walked the perimeter?”

  Lew glanced up. “No, no signs whatsoever. At least not yet. He thinks it was a rifle shot from quite a distance. I’ve asked him to take time tomorrow to walk farther out, a good half-mile if he can.”

  She turned to Jake, who was sitting on a stump a short distance away watching as his son’s body was slipped into a body bag for transport to the crime lab in Wausau. “Jake, you and Ray didn’t happen to see anything unusual when you were up in the plane today, did you? Any indication of people living back in here? Tents? Shacks? I know where the campgrounds are and none are close to this area.”

  “We were up on the far end where Liam had been working his square on the grid. I’d say a good five miles or so from there—so, no, we didn’t fly over this area.”

  Bruce walked over to where they were sitting and knelt beside Jake. “Mr. Barber, your son never knew what hit him. I am confident the bullet entered from behind. He died instantly with the force of the bullet throwing his body forward.”

  “Thank you,” said Jake. “Based on what I’ve seen here, I’ll bet you anything my son was in the midst of a cast with his tenkara rod. That means he died with his heart full of anticipation. And look around us,” said Jake with a wave of his arm. “Think of where he was at that moment: standing in a pool of sunlight, watching the ripples on the river, hearing the whispers of these magnificent pines. If death has to happen,” his voice cracked, “could there be a better place to die?”

  Lew turned to him with a soft smile. “I wish I could have felt that when I lost my son.”

  “You lost a child?” asked Jake.

  Bruce sat on the grass near Lew, legs akimbo as he listened.

  “He was seventeen and a troubled kid.” She resisted adding too much like his father. Instead she said, “Knifed in a bar fight. On a dark night in a parking lot.”

  Jake thought that over before asking, “How did you feel at the time?”

  “Numb… and a failure as a parent.”

  “Hmm,” said Jake.

  “But my grandfather to whom I was very close—the person who taught me how to fly-fish—knew how to help me in my grief. He made me go fishing.”

  “He did?” asked Jake, taken aback.

  “Yep. I waded into the trout stream near my grandfather’s place where I had fished as a kid and I stayed in that water for two whole weeks. Gramps said the water would heal me. And it did. At least I came out a whole person.”

  “I know you mentioned earlier that you fly-fish,” said Jake.

  “She doesn’t just fly-fish—she’s the expert,” said Bruce. “She taught me everything I know from casting to fly tying. That’s why I finagle to get assigned up here. Get a lesson every time.” He smirked in satisfaction. “Getting one this weekend, right?”

  “You nut,” said Lew, batting at his head. “Yes, of course.”

  “I have an idea,” said Jake. “I have to stay in Loon Lake until my son’s body is released from the crime lab, right? And I am thinking I may have him cremated while I’m up here, too. So, have you two ever tried tenkara fishing?”

  “Never heard of it until we met you,” said Lew. “Have you, Bruce?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll teach you. We’ll use Liam’s rod and I’ll have my office courier up my equipment. If the weather holds, we’ll give it a try Friday. Right here on the Pine where my son…”

  “I would like that very much,” said Lew.

  “What about me? Can I tag along?” asked Bruce, looking more like a twelve-year-old kid than a forensic scientist nearing age thirty.

  “That reminds me,” said Jake. “I searched all through Liam’s fishing vest and I could not find the wooden box he carried his trout flies in. He only ever had two flies in the box. It’s only this big and not heavy.” Jake held out two fingers.

  “That’s too bad. He may have been holding it and it flew out of his hand when he was hit,” said Bruce. He looked toward where his colleague was finishing up near the tag alder where Liam died. “I’ll take a close look all around over there before we head back today.”

  “Thank you,” said Jake.

  As they walked back through the forest to their vehicles, Jake said, “Chief Ferris, I would like to find the Catholic Church in Loon Lake. Can you tell me where it is?”

  “Doc attends Mass several times a week. I’ll have him give you a call. I’m not sure what the daily schedule is.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Returning to the station, Lew was relieved to find her office empty and her desk just as she had left it. She poked her head into the conference room where the weasel sat hunched over his laptop. “Alan,” she said, “any luck? How’s it going?”

  He looked up and pushed his chair back. “Actually, yes. I reached a local bank officer who was able to tell me all about your friend.”

  “My friend?” Lew walked into the room, crossed her arms, and waited.

  “Mr. Jarvison. Bud.”

  “I know the man. He is not my friend.”

  “Oh well,” Alan smirked, “whatever. Turns out Chairman Jarvison has been making deposits to his personal bank account every few days in amounts just below the legal limit of ten grand that triggers SARs—Suspicious Activity Reports.”

  “How much money are you talking about?”

  “At the rate he’s been depositing? Forty to fifty thousand a week. And staying just under the radar we use to target money launderers.”

  “So that’s why you’re here,” said Lew. “I’ve been wondering what would bring the FBI to Loon Lake. The Jarvisons are very wealthy people. He inherited millions and since he’s retired from the day-to-day operations maybe it’s an oversight. Probably thought he didn’t have to worry about it.”

  “Doubt that. Fact is our regional office was tipped off about this activity months ago. Last December, in fact. But we had to prioritize Homeland Security directives so I didn’t get around to checking on this until I saw the posting about the banker found dead in your national forest.”

  “You mean Peter Corbin?”

  “I remembered the name the minute I saw it. He’s the banker who tipped us. He said that he brought the issue of the multiple deposits to Mr. Jarvison’s attention because he didn’t want the Jarvison Bank Corporation held accountable and fined. All he asked at the time was that Jarvison document the source of his funds in order to keep the transactions transparent for bank regulators. Up until then, he assumed Jarvison was selling stocks. When Jarvison blew him off, he had second thoughts and came to us.”

  “You think Bud Jarvison had something to do with Peter Corbin’s death?”

  Alan’s eyes searched Lew’s. “I wouldn’t go that far—yet. The first question is where is the money coming from?”

  “That’s easy to answer. The family is filthy rich.”

  “Was filthy rich.”

  Lew pulled out a chair and sat down. “Now how do you know that?” The guy might look like a weasel but she was impressed with his work ethic. “Is the bank allowed to share personal financial information?”

  “I didn’t need it. I used the old ‘hunting and fishing’ technique: talked to a stockbroker who duck hunts with the banker and was an advisor to Jarvison until very recently. He said Jarvison made some really big and really bad bets in the market last year. Lost $32 million.”

  Lew whistled. “So what next?”

  “Like I said—I need to find the source of that money. Is he laundering from someone or some group? Is it mob money? Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened up here. Yep, I’m looking for the source.”

  Lew said, “We found another
victim in the Nicolet National Forest today. That makes two bodies in an area so remote that few people hunt, fish, or camp in there. Plus it’s a wolf rendezvous site so it’s dangerous to be in there alone.”

  Alan studied her. “Sorry I disturbed your office. I had no idea you have so much happening in this town.”

  Lew waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Does Jarvison know you’re looking into this?”

  “Not yet. Please don’t say anything to anyone. I need to learn the source of the cash before I confront him—or his wife. Both their names are on the deposit slips.”

  • • •

  Not until Osborne was driving home late that night did it occur to him the one question Bud did not ask: What happened to the missing student?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The owl swiveled his majestic snowy-white head to stare at Osborne, amber eyes boring into the doc’s. Was the owl trying to tell him something? Before Osborne could ask, the bird flew a few feet away. He landed in fog with his back to Osborne. The air felt chilled. Osborne started to follow him but the bird kept hopping just ahead. Osborne noticed that the owl’s wings had disappeared and the big white head had the body of a small boy and the boy kept just ahead of Osborne, walking with the firm footsteps of a fearless child.

  Osborne could see a hand pulling the boy-owl. A hand that belonged to a snowman—a snowman who towered over the boy. The two beings stopped and looked back at Osborne. The owl’s eyes blazed and seemed to pulse with meaning. Osborne was sure he should be seeing or hearing some message. He reached out both hands, begging for more information, but the boy-owl turned his back again. Again the snowman pulled the boy-owl along.

  Only now the snowman was growing larger, the boy-owl smaller. Osborne wanted to call out for them to wait for him but his voice wouldn’t work. Even at a distance Osborne could see the snowman was missing the back half of his head. It didn’t seem to bother the snowman. He wasn’t bleeding. But of course not, thought Osborne, snowmen don’t bleed.

  Just as he questioned why an owl would have a boy’s body and why an owl would walk not fly, the air changed. Grew warm, then hot. The owl shed its body and charged Osborne, the eyes a lurid greenish-yellow as it hovered in front of his face. Osborne struggled to know what the eyes were trying to tell him.

  As fast as it had come at him, the owl flew off. It landed and again the pristine white head floated on the body of a boy. And again the boy-owl held tight to the hand of a tall figure as the two walked away. This time the figure was not the snowman but someone wearing a white T-shirt emblazoned with a familiar bright green logo: the emblem of the Natural Resources Society.

  Osborne chastised himself. He should have known. It’s Jake’s son, Liam Barber. He’s rescuing the boy-owl, keeping him safe. Showing him the way.

  • • •

  Osborne woke from the dream in a heavy sweat. He pushed the coverlet away and stared up at the ceiling, thinking back on the details of the dream. Why a snowy owl? Then he remembered Cody’s favorite hand puppet: a white-feathered snowy owl. But why the snowman with half his head gone? And why that poor young man whom they just found shot to death?

  He decided to sit up, drink some water from the glass on the bedside table, and try to make his heart stop pounding. The digital readout on the clock radio indicated it was only three A.M. Mike was sleeping soundly on his dog bed in the corner of the bedroom. Osborne lay back down, his eyes wide open. He knew the significance of the dream and it broke his heart. It would be difficult to wait for sunrise but he would and then he had to see his daughter: Erin had to know.

  When he woke three hours later, he was surprised that he had fallen back asleep. Yet even as he slept he knew his heart was telling him something. He hoped he was wrong, but he doubted it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He arrived at the hospital just as the breakfast trays were being delivered. Erin was on the cot in Cody’s room and sitting up with a disposable gown over her robe reading a newspaper when Osborne tapped on the door.

  “How’s our boy?” whispered Osborne. He had pulled on his gown and mask before entering.

  “Still sleeping, Dad. Why are you here so early? No need to whisper. The nurse will be in to wake Cody any minute so he’s alert, we hope, when the medical team does its rounds this morning.” She adjusted herself on the cot and patted a spot for Osborne to sit.

  He walked over, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and sat down. “Where’s Mark?”

  “He slept at home with the girls. He’ll make them some breakfast then come on over.”

  Osborne took a deep breath, then said, “I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst, sweetheart.” He pressed fingers against his eyelids and hoped he could continue. “I, well, I don’t have a good feeling about how Cody can pull through is all.”

  Erin reached to take his hand. “Dad, of course you don’t. You lost your mother just this way. I’m surprised that you hadn’t told me this before.”

  “Really? Erin, you are a stronger person than I am.”

  “No, Dad, but Mark and I have had each other to hold onto these past days. You didn’t have anyone. You were so young when Grandma died.” Erin gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m not saying this is easier for us, I’m just saying we know the danger up front. Maybe that helps, maybe we’ll find that it doesn’t. But, Dad, you are not telling me something I don’t already know.”

  Osborne paused. He had just caught sight of a basket in the corner holding Cody’s favorite toys. The hat from Ray sat on top of the white head of the owl hand puppet. The owl’s eyes were a light, pleasant yellow this morning.

  “All right then,” said Osborne, getting to his feet. He bent over to give his daughter a hug. Cody stirred under his blankets. “Is that a good sign?”

  “Don’t know, Dad. Let’s hope.”

  Seeing Erin lifted his spirits and he walked out of the hospital feeling a little more settled. Maybe it was the benign expression in the puppet owl’s eyes. Maybe it was his daughter’s strength in the face of the unknown. He reminded himself that every day of his life and the lives of the people around him was an unknown.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shortly before eight the next morning, Jake and Osborne slipped sideways into Osborne’s usual pew and knelt to pray. The church was nearly empty, not unusual for a sunny Saturday morning; most parishioners would attend one of the Sunday Masses.

  After Mass had ended, Jake said, “Doc, do you mind waiting for me to talk to the priest? I’d like to arrange to have Liam’s ashes blessed before I leave town.”

  “Not at all,” said Osborne, “take your time.” While Jake spoke to the priest in the vestibule of the church, Osborne occupied himself reading the parish notices pinned to the church bulletin board.

  “All set?” asked Osborne when Jake had shaken hands with the priest. “I’ll show you one of Loon Lake’s best breakfast spots if you’d like—”

  Before he could say more, a female voice called to them from the street in front of the church. Nancy Jarvison was half out of her car and waving madly in their direction. She ran toward them, both hands out.

  “Oh, Mr. Barber, I saw you interviewed on the news last evening and I am so sorry to hear what happened to your son.” She reached to pump his hand with enthusiasm. “I’m Nancy Jarvison and so pleased to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” said Jake, sounding overwhelmed. “Do you know Dr. Osborne?” he asked turning toward Osborne.

  “Of course, his late wife Mary Lee was one of my closest friends. I still miss her, Paul. And how is that little grandson of yours doing?” Before Osborne could open his mouth, she said, “Paul will tell you we lost our only child, our son, in a terrible accident not long ago. Right, Paul?”

  Mystified as to what she was up to, Osborne nodded in agreement. He was tempted to mention that the accident was at least fifteen years ago but thought better of it. At the same time, he couldn’t help but notice how well put together Nancy was for so early
in the morning. She was wearing white pants and a navy blue pullover that highlighted her blond hair and deep summer tan. Even the sling holding her injured shoulder was in a colorful pattern.

  Looking up at Jake, she said, “So, Mr. Barber—”

  “Jake, just call me Jake.”

  “Certainly. Jake, you must be wondering how I knew to find you here.”

  “Well, now that you mention it—”

  “The clerk at the inn said you would be attending Mass. The reason I’ve tracked you down is my husband and I—knowing you must have to stay in town for a few days—we would like you to join us for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy—just ourselves and you… and Dr. Osborne.”

  Osborne could tell he was an afterthought. He also could not think of a place he would like less to be.

  “I’m really not up for anything social,” said Jake, his voice kind. “But I appreciate the thought.”

  “Of course you aren’t, and we understand.” Nancy leaned in and in a low voice said, “I know you run All Tech, Jake. We have been major stockholders for years—only one percent of course. I’m surprised you don’t recognize me from the last stockholders meeting.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “Mrs. Jarvison, there were 5,000 people there.”

  “But we were in the second row.”

  “Oh? Well…”

  “So you’ll come. Seven this evening. Don’t bring a thing except our friend Paul here. And he knows the way.” She flashed a bright smile and was back in her car before the two men could close their mouths.

  “How the hell did that happen?” asked Jake as the car sped away.

  “I learned a long time ago not to get in that woman’s way,” said Osborne. “Hey, we have the rest of the morning to figure out an excuse not to go.”

  “Not sure if I shouldn’t go. One percent is $10 million. That is a significant investment in our company. Let me think it over.” He smiled at Osborne as he said, “I have become intimate with the menu at the Loon Lake Inn. Be nice to have a change. Anyway, she seems a gracious woman.”