by Stephen Frey
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and I don’t know why I came to the Prescott compound. It seemed like I was on I-35 one minute coming south from Hayward and the next minute I was gazing at the ivied wall, my mind filled with the same envy and bitter memories I felt years ago. It was almost like the SUV went on autopilot for a few minutes and drove itself here. I’ve got two important things to do in Minneapolis, but for some reason I wanted to see this ivory tower I was never allowed into before I get to what I really came for.
Cindy tried to sneak me in here one time back when I was a cop at the Plymouth precinct, which is northwest of the downtown, after I’d dropped out of the University of Minnesota. But her father found out I was coming over and he called the private security force he uses and warned the guard at the main gate not to let me in. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Several of Cindy’s friends were with us and I was the only one who was turned away. Cindy apologized and gave me a sad little wave, but then she shrugged and went inside with her friends.
The whole thing was proof to me of how connected Lewis Prescott is, and how loyal people are to him. How loyal people are to money. I’d only talked about going to the Prescott compound with three people that night: Cindy, my partner on the force, and my sergeant. Though Cindy always loved drama and leaving me in the maze that time up at the estate was damn mean, I don’t think she deliberately embarrassed me in front of her friends. I still talk to my ex-partner on the force every once in a while. He’s a good guy and I trust him to this day. That leaves my sergeant, and he seemed like the kind of guy who could be bribed. He died a few years ago and though I didn’t like him much, I still went to his funeral and paid my respects.
Not long after being barred from the compound, I was accused of sneaking several bags of cocaine out of my precinct’s evidence room and was quickly packed off to Madison to become a Wisconsin state trooper. The whole thing stank like a five-day-old deer carcass on a hot summer day and it had Lewis Prescott’s fingerprints all over it. But I didn’t have a choice, so I took the job even though I knew what was going on. It was actually a step up, if you think about it. Being a state trooper carries more respect than being a city cop just about everywhere except New York. But that’s Lewis Prescott. He drummed me out, but he gave me an incentive to leave, too. In the end, he’s a businessman but not much else. He’s certainly not much of a father.
I gaze at the slate roof of the mansion to the left. It’s Chelsea’s place, given to her by her father as a wedding present. Chelsea is the younger Prescott daughter. Her husband, Tom, is an investment banker at a small firm in downtown St. Paul that wouldn’t do much business if not for the crumbs Prescott and his friends throw in the firm’s direction every once in a while. Tom’s not very smart and he’s never been allowed into the family business like Jack Harrison was at the beginning of his and Cindy’s marriage. Of course, Tom didn’t bring a huge commodities operation to bolt onto Prescott Trading along with him the way Jack did, either. Tom was baggage and Jack was upside. At least, that’s how Prescott looked at it, according to Cindy.
Even though Chelsea and Tom lead a life anyone I know would gladly trade for, Chelsea hates her father. As much as Lewis Prescott wanted Cindy to be a boy, he wanted Chelsea to be a boy ten times more. He quit trying after Chelsea because he figured he’d always have girls and he didn’t want to be disappointed each time. Then he spent three decades blaming Chelsea—and, though not as obviously, Cindy, too.
Despite his frustration at not having a boy, Prescott kept up appearances and did all the right fatherly things. He sent Chelsea to the right schools; gave her Minneapolis’s second-best wedding of the decade after Cindy’s; and presented her with the mansion as a wedding gift. But behind the ivied walls Chelsea constantly heard about how much her father had wanted a male heir and how she’d failed him before she was even born. It got so bad sometimes Cindy would cry to me on the phone about it. Well, maybe I can use all that pent-up bitterness, resentment, and rage to my advantage.
My eyes narrow as I stare at the incredible wealth rising up before me. What I wouldn’t give to see a foreclosure sign hanging on it. If only Cindy’s right about her father’s financial problems. Maybe I should feel bad about wishing such misfortune on a family—but I don’t.
My cell phone rings as I pull away from the curb and head to my first appointment. Well, I can’t really call it an appointment. The other party has no idea I’m coming. If he did, he’d probably get out of his office as fast as he could.
It turns out it’s Vivian who’s calling.
“Hello,” I say tentatively. I’m ready for her to still be angry at how I had the video camera turned on in the closet to try to catch Bear while I was gone in the woods.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
But her voice is soft as cotton. I don’t get it, but I’m not going to ask why.
“Where are you?” she wants to know.
“Minneapolis.” If Cindy were still alive I wouldn’t have told her, because I’d never hear the end of it. But how could she take issue with my being here now that Cindy’s gone? “I’ve got some business down here.”
“Oh,” she says quietly.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
I press the phone hard to my ear as I take a left at a stop sign. I know Vivian well. That was real fear I heard in her voice just then. No acting. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a nightmare this morning, Paul. I can’t shake it.”
That’s why she’s being so nice to me. Fear is one hell of a motivator. “Tell me about it,” I ask, but I’m pretty sure I already know which one.
“I don’t want to bother you with it.”
“Talk to me, Viv.” I’m going to be as compassionate as I can. I want us to get back to getting along. I liked being lovers and friends again. I was starting to feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time, and not just in the bedroom. I don’t care what anyone says about her or me, I really did love her for the first few years of our marriage. Madly, I mean that head-over-heels stuff. I want that back. I really want it back. “Come on, honey.”
“I had the one about being murdered in the house again.”
It sounded like she sobbed but I couldn’t tell for sure. It must have been really vivid this time to still be getting to her so badly, because it’s three in the afternoon and I’m sure she’s been up since right after I left. “It was just a dream, Viv.” That sounds hollow. I wish I could think of something better to say. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I know, but it seemed so real. And it was that same one I always have. The people break in through the back porch door, tie me down on the living room floor, rip my clothes off, and cut my throat. I woke up this morning grabbing my neck so hard I thought I tasted blood.” She sobs again. “I wanted you to be here but you were gone.”
A chill snakes up my spine, but I tell myself that there’s no way she could know the details of Cindy’s murder—she isn’t tied into Mrs. Erickson’s web and really doesn’t have any friends other than Bear. I catch my breath as an awful thought hits me. She couldn’t know the details—unless, of course, she was there. I think about those two bloody knives and the dry-cleaning ticket that are stashed in my strongbox at home. Then I glance quickly to my right. The tapes I lifted from Caleb Jenkins’s bedroom are on the Cherokee’s passenger seat and I wonder what’s on them. I’ll have to watch them with no one else around.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night, Paul. I can’t believe how I get sometimes. I shouldn’t have locked you out of the bedroom, I shouldn’t have—”
“I shouldn’t have put that camera in there,” I interrupt firmly. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“But what were you trying to—”
“Nothing.” I don’t want to get into it. We both know what I was trying to do, and it’s embarrassing to talk about it. I was just being very insecure. If she’d done that to me, I’d probably be twice as mad a
s she is. “I’m sorry,” I mumble again. “And I never said anything about doing away with you to Cindy. I swear it. She was just trying to get me in trouble.” I swallow hard. “She’s always been jealous of you.” That’ll make her feel good. “You know that.”
“Really?” she asks in a weak, hoping-to-God-I’m-telling-the-truth voice. “Jealous of me?”
“You know it. You’ve always known it.”
“When will you be home?” she wants to know. “I’ll fix you a nice meal and I’ll wear something special for you.”
This is going to tear her apart, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “I might have to stay down here tonight.”
“Oh, God, no. You can’t do that.”
“It all depends on whether I get in to see this one guy. If I can’t see him until tomorrow morning, I’ll have to get a motel room down here.”
“Paul, please don’t leave me in this house alone tonight. I’ve got such a bad feeling about it.”
“Why don’t you go to Heather’s for the night?” I suggest. She’s crying hard now and I feel really bad. “Go down to Gatlin. If you leave now you’ll make it there before dark. I’ll stop by on my way home tomorrow morning and we can convoy it back to Bruner together.”
“I talked to Heather this morning. She and Marty won’t be home tonight. They’re going to his parents in La Crosse.”
The problem is that even if I do get in to see the guy I’m headed for now, my second meeting isn’t until eight o’clock tonight. Even if that only goes a few minutes and I drive straight back to Bruner when it’s over, I still won’t be home until after eleven, as slick as the roads will be.
“I’ll call Billy and see if he can come over.”
“What?” she asks, sniffling.
“I’ll call Bear and tell him to stay with you until I get home.”
“Why in the world would you want Bear here with me if you’re hiding cameras in the house to try to catch us?”
“Look, I was just being stupid. Maybe it was because you and I were getting along so well again and I was feeling a little jealous myself—ah, shoot,” I say. “I’ve gotta go, Viv. It’s Davy Johnson on the other line. I’ve got to talk to him.”
“Don’t hang up on me, Paul.”
I’ve been trying to reach Davy all afternoon. I’ve been worried that something happened to Chugger and him out in the woods. “Honey, I’ve got to take his call. I’m sorry.”
“Please, Paul!”
“I’ll call you right back, I promise.” I cut her off in midshriek. I feel bad about it but we’ll be on the phone for another hour if I don’t hang up. “Davy?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Sheriff. Hey, look, Chugger and I just got back to 681. We found the cabin all right, but it was burned to the ground. It was still smoking when we got there. It was a real mess.”
My eyes narrow as I drive into Edina’s small business area. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m dead serious.”
He is, too. Davy doesn’t have much of a sense of humor to begin with, and if there’s one thing he’d never joke about, it’s police business.
“Sorry it took so long, Sheriff. We would have been back sooner, but I had to do something for Bear first. We were halfway to your house when he called me.”
“Something for Bear? What?”
“He had me go east of town to check on the Kendrick family.”
The Kendrick family lives back on a dirt road off Route 7. They’re poor and they’ve got a couple of small kids, and it’s legitimate to wonder if they’re all right after the storm we had. But that detour gave somebody else time to get to the cabin, burn it down, and destroy any evidence. My God, I can’t believe it. I really can’t.
“He said he wanted to make sure they were okay.”
“Since when do you take orders from Bear?” I demand. “Huh?” Vivian’s calling back and the beeping in my ear is driving me nuts. Mostly because I thought I’d come to terms with Bear being my best friend, that I could always count on him and that he was above suspicion of anything. Now this. “Well?”
“Um,” he starts nervously, “I, I guess I figured you told Bear to call me and tell me to do it. That’s how it usually goes.”
I take a deep breath as the beeping from Vivian’s incoming call continues. Davy’s right, of course. That is how it usually does happen. I tell Bear to tell the other guys what to do. “Sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. But let’s get one thing straight. You take orders from me, not Bear. I’ll talk to him about it,” I say, raising my voice as Davy tries to interrupt. I know what he’s going to say. How the next time Bear tells him to do something and he doesn’t do it, there’s going to be hell to pay. It’s my fault because I’ve let Bear become my unofficial second in command and I need to fix that. Otherwise I’ll have a mutiny on my hands. Maybe I already do. “All right?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Thanks for going out there.” At least the beeping from Vivian’s call has stopped. “I know it was a pain in the ass.”
“No problem, sir.”
“And there was nothing left of the place?”
“Nothing.”
Vivian’s trying to get me again. I was hoping she’d give up, but no luck. The thing is I really am worried about her. It almost sounded like she had a premonition on top of her dream, and the last time she had a premonition Gus and Trudy ended up dead in a grove of pine trees.
I turn the phone off as I swing into a parking lot marked “Edina Engineering.” I’m worried about Vivian but I can’t listen to her right now. I’ll call her back after I’m through talking to Henry Steinbach, the man who stopped in at the Exxon station last week and told Bat he was working on something out on River Road. I need to know what he was doing out there. I’ve got my suspicions, but I need to confirm them.
I can see the anxiety all over the poor receptionist’s face as soon as I come through the inner glass doors of what turns out to be very nice offices. It’s a facial expression you get accustomed to as a police officer.
“I’m here to see Henry Steinbach,” I say in as friendly a tone as possible. “Is he available, Mrs. Driscoll?” That’s her name, according to the plate on the front of the desk.
“Is there a problem?”
“I don’t think so.” There isn’t, of course. Not with Steinbach. Not that I know of, anyway. But people seem to react more quickly when they think there is, so I leave the possibility open. “But I guess we’ll see.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Sheriff Paul Summers,” I say, taking out my badge and giving her a good long look at it. “I’m from Dakota County, Wisconsin. That’s up northeast of Duluth just off the Big Lake.”
“I see. Well, Mr. Steinbach isn’t in today. He’s traveling in California. He won’t be back in the office until Monday.”
I stare at her hard for a few moments, giving her time to change her story if she needs to. She seems sweet and innocent and she probably is, but you never know. And if you give people that cold stare from above the uniform, most of them end up telling you the truth pretty quickly even when they’ve lied to you the first time.
“He really is,” she speaks up, a trace of irritation inching into her voice.
She’s figured out what I’m doing. If nothing else good, age brings experience and a little offhand impertinence. I smile despite my disappointment. She’s a kick and, besides, my eight o’clock meeting may well end up being more important than seeing Steinbach. That meeting is the main reason I drove all the way down here. “Could you give me his cell phone number.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I can’t do that unless you have something official that I can look at. Something from a judge, maybe.”
Someone’s trained her very well. “Okay. Then I’d like you to leave him a message to call me. Could you do that for me, Mrs. Driscoll?” I want her to know that I’m making it a point to remember her name in case there’s a next time and she hasn’t been comple
tely truthful with me this time.
“Certainly.”
When I’m back in the Cherokee with my cell phone turned on, I see that I have seven messages. Five of them are from Vivian; one is from Darrow Clements, who tells me in no uncertain terms that he’s going to be in my office at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning and I better be there; and the last message is from Peter Schmidt, who asks me to call him as soon as possible.
So I do. The hell with Darrow Clements. If I’m in my office at eight tomorrow morning, I’ll see him. If I’m not, screw him.
“Hello.”
“Peter, this is Paul Summers from Dakota County. I’m returning your call.”
“Hi, Paul.” Schmidt lets out a long, frustrated breath. “Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I had to give up Cindy’s body. Darrow Clements showed up over here in Superior really making trouble for me and while he was here, while he was in my God damn office, for Christ’s sake, I got a call from my boss’s boss in Madison. I’m sorry, Paul. I told you I’d give you a heads-up before I did that, but there was nothing I could do.” He hesitates. “And just so you know, Clements looked at her body while he was here. He saw that pentagram carved into her forehead.”
Chelsea didn’t get Cindy’s looks. She’s blond and she’s clearly a Prescott but she’s short and overweight—and not just a little bit fat, she borders on obese. She doesn’t make up for her lack of looks with sweetness the way Maggie does, either. In fact, Chelsea can be a royal pain. I guess she figures she doesn’t have to make up for anything because of all the money her family has. But I do know she’s swallowed a lot of her bitterness about her father’s wanting her to be a boy by constantly eating sweets. Cindy used to tell me about the cookies and cakes Chelsea would eat and it was pretty amazing.
