As the two young men went about setting out a third net, Lance quietly returned to his vehicle.
He checked his cell phone, which was lying on the passenger seat, and saw that Sheriff Eggum had called his private number. For a moment he thought about calling him back, but changed his mind. Instead he simply sat in the pickup truck, staring straight ahead. He sat there motionless for maybe ten minutes. Then he remembered that he was only a few miles from Andy’s cabin at Lost Lake. And according to his brother, that was where he’d spent the entire night when the murder was committed. Lance knew where the key was. He had permission to go inside and use the cabin for his lunch breaks whenever he liked. He hadn’t used it in a long time, but there was no reason for him to think Andy had moved the key to a different hiding place.
HE PARKED IN THE USUAL SPOT, which was invisible from the road, and began walking along the path through the pine forest. He’d taken this path countless times before. But it was strange how seldom he’d been out here with Andy, even though the cabin belonged to his brother. He remembered that one time Chrissy was with him. She must have been about seven back then. But that was just a day trip, of course. Lance had never stayed overnight at his brother’s cabin, either alone or with Andy, even though the place was equipped with its own generator.
As soon as the brown-painted walls of the building appeared between the trees, Lance had a feeling that the cabin was somehow connected to the murder. He stopped on the path. Stood still, staring at this place that everyone had overlooked. A small piece of the puzzle from the night of the murder. Every other place had undoubtedly been turned upside down and finecombed for evidence, but no one had been out here. He was sure of that. The police had no idea the cabin was even here, radiating a dark attraction over Lance, just as the body of Georg Lofthus had done while it was still lying in the birch woods and Lance was in the parking lot with the local police. But the FBI hadn’t been out here to take photographs or record observations in little black notebooks.
For safety’s sake he knocked on the door, but of course no one was inside the cabin. He pressed down on the handle, tugged at the door. Then he leaned down and pulled out a loose brick from the foundation. But there was nothing in the little hollow where the key was usually left. He peeked under the doormat and ran his hand along the narrow ledge above the door, but the key wasn’t there either. What was the point of telling him that he could use the cabin for his lunch breaks if he couldn’t find the key?
He tried peering through a window, but the curtains were drawn. The whole area was fragrant with the scent of sun-drenched heather and pine needles. Between the tree trunks he could glimpse the water of Lost Lake. An acrid smell came from an anthill somewhere close by. He heard insects buzzing, but otherwise it was quiet, with no sign of any people.
Lance was still holding the loose brick. Now he raised his hand and slammed the brick against the windowpane. With a crash the glass fell in and landed on the floor inside. He stood still and listened for a few seconds but heard only the usual buzzing of insects in the woods on a hot summer day.
After opening the window and removing as much of the glass as possible from the sill, Lance went to find an old barbecue grill from behind the cabin and brought it back with him.
Okay, now I can add this to my list, he thought as he climbed up on the rickety grill. Breaking and entering. A policeman at work!
With an effort he was able to haul his upper body onto the windowsill. It hurt his stomach and he was breathing hard. For a moment he was afraid he’d end up just hanging there, sort of like a down quilt hung up to air out, until somebody found his lifeless body. That thought reenergized him. Groaning with pain, he forced his heavy body over the sill until he could finally touch the floor inside with his hands. Then he let himself fall forward with a thud.
Scattered all over the floor were shards of glass, both big and small pieces, from the window he’d just shattered. He got to his feet and looked around. The room consisted of a nook for a sofa, coffee table, and TV. A worn easy chair stood in front of the fireplace. Under one of the two windows was a simple table with four spindle back chairs. To the right of the front door was a small refrigerator and stove, with a small kitchen counter and sink. A door led to the bedroom, while another one led to the minuscule bathroom. Both of these doors were closed.
Lance didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. An empty Coke can stood on the counter. He went over and picked it up, as if it might be a valuable piece of evidence. But it wasn’t. Andy always drank Coke. Unlike Lance, who had to stick with Diet Coke, Andy could eat and drink anything he liked and never gain any weight.
There was nothing unusual in the cabin, as far as Lance could tell. He was just about to turn around when he caught sight of something that looked suspiciously like blood in the sink. Just a small drop. He touched it cautiously with his index finger. It was blood, all right. And it seemed very fresh. Lance held up his finger to study the blood. Then he noticed that he’d got a little cut on his ring finger, right at the tip. That was where the blood had come from. He touched it with his thumb. A sharp pain told him a piece of glass was still embedded in the flesh. He looked around, hoping to find a roll of paper towels, but he was out of luck. A new drop of blood fell from his fingertip onto the floor. It was a tiny cut, but since it was on his finger, the bleeding was relatively heavy. What should he do? He couldn’t leave blood all over the floor of his brother’s cabin. That was a stupid thought. He knew that, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Those little drops of blood were too much for him. He held his hand over the sink again so the blood disappeared down the drain. Several dark drops were visible on the floor at his feet. He looked from the blood to the shattered glass and then back again, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a shudder.
In the bathroom he found some toilet paper, which he wrapped around his finger. He stuffed some more paper in his pants pocket. Then he went back to the main room and looked around, as if still searching for some evidence to prove his brother’s innocence.
Andy doesn’t even know I’m protecting him, Lance thought. I’ll never get a word of thanks for doing this. No one will ever know what I’ve done for my brother. It occurred to him that this was something he’d have to keep on doing for the rest of his life. It would never be over.
He thought of Clayton Miller on the ground in the schoolyard on that day when sixteen-year-old Andy came around the corner of the building, holding a baseball bat in his hand. With that completely lost look in his eyes. That lonely stare. That’s where it all began, thought Lance. In the schoolyard on that day so long ago. That’s why I’m standing here. That’s why I broke into his cabin.
Why did you do it? Lance knew he should have asked Andy that question. Their parents should have asked him too. There had to be a reason. And Lance was convinced the motive was similar to the one that had made Andy kill the Norwegian tourist. There was a space inside his brother that was filled with cruelty. A space he might not ever visit voluntarily. But if someone happened to open the door by accident, Andy immediately became part of that cruelty. And then he was deadly dangerous. He must never suspect that Lance knew anything. Because then Lance’s life would probably be in danger too.
He looked around. It wouldn’t take long for Andy to discover the break-in. Was there anything that might lead him to think Lance was behind it? He hadn’t taken anything. Everything was in its place, except for the pieces of glass on the floor.
Lance opened the cupboard above the sink, took out a glass, and dropped it to the floor, but it didn’t break. Annoyed, he bent down and picked it up. Then he raised it high overhead, and with all his might he hurled it to the floor. Pieces of glass sprayed out over the room. He got out another tumbler and threw it against the wall. More shards of glass rained down over the room. In quick succession he broke four more glasses, three coffee mugs, and six big dinner plates. When he was done, he went into the bathro
om and stuffed the whole roll of toilet paper into the toilet. Then he went into the bedroom and tore the bedclothes off all four bunk beds. He pulled one of the mattresses out of its frame and flung it into the living room.
He thought that at last it was starting to look as if some teenagers had vandalized the place. He was about to go back to the main room when he caught sight of a magazine. It was lying in plain view on the bedroom floor. He hadn’t noticed it before because he was so busy throwing things around. At first he thought it was a porn magazine, but when he picked it up, he saw that it was a music publication called Darkside. He leafed through it for a moment. It was filled with black-clad people with edgy hairstyles. But there was something that didn’t make sense. The idea of Andy buying a copy of Darkside was as likely as him starting up a rock band. He wouldn’t have bought it. He wouldn’t have brought it here. The magazine had to belong to a teenager, which meant it must be Chrissy’s, thought Lance. At the same time, he couldn’t quite believe that seventeen-year-old Chrissy would bother coming up here to the cabin anymore.
It was the June issue of the magazine. If Chrissy really had brought it to the cabin, that meant she must have been here sometime during the three weeks before the Norwegian was killed. She couldn’t have been here after that, because Tammy was refusing to allow her daughter to go anywhere after she heard about the murder. It was only a few days ago that he and Tammy had discussed this very subject while they waited for Andy to come home. At that time she told Lance she first learned of the murder when Andy and Chrissy came home the next day. And in that context the “next day” meant Wednesday, June 25, the same day Lance had found the dead man. Andy had been out at the cabin, while Chrissy spent the night with a girlfriend, and the next day they’d come home together. Andy had gone to Duluth to pick up his daughter. Lance suddenly recalled the look on Andy’s face when Tammy said Lance had come over to talk to them about Chrissy. It was the same hopeless, lost expression that he’d had in the schoolyard, holding the baseball bat in his hands.
Had father and daughter been here together on that night?
Lance went into the main room and took one last look around. He shook his head at the destruction. At least he wouldn’t have to crawl through the window again. The door had a latch that could be opened from the inside. He was still holding the Darkside in his left hand. From his right hand trailed a long piece of bloody toilet paper. He tossed the magazine back in the bedroom, unwrapped the toilet paper from his finger and dropped it on the floor. His finger had stopped bleeding. It wasn’t a bad cut, but when he touched it, he could definitely feel the piece of glass was still in his finger.
LANCE DROVE STRAIGHT to his cousin’s canoe rental place near Sawbill Lake. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so many customers before. That was good for business, of course, but Lance doubted Gary would have time to take a break and talk.
Finally he found a free parking spot between two other cars. He got out, pulled his sunglasses down a bit, and peered over the rims, squinting in the sunlight. Blue-clad teenagers were busy showing inexperienced customers how to lift a canoe up onto their shoulders with a few simple motions. Lance knew from experience how heavy a canoe could feel if not lifted properly.
He went inside and saw Gary standing behind the counter, filling out paperwork. In front of the counter stood a small group of tourists. But Gary wasn’t working alone. Next to him stood the brunette, the one that Lance suspected his cousin was sleeping with.
As he stood there, studying them, he couldn’t help noticing how at ease they seemed with each other. At one point the girl leaned close to say something to Gary, who merely nodded affirmatively as he continued to write down the information that the man standing on the other side of the counter was providing. At that moment, they seemed like a married couple. Lance saw it quite clearly. There was something about the way they were working side by side, something intimate, as if it were perfectly natural for them to be together. He had the same feeling as last time—he suspected then that Gary must be having an affair, and now he was more convinced than ever.
As Lance was thinking about all this, Gary suddenly looked up from the paperwork and let his eyes sweep over the room. He caught sight of his cousin standing there, watching him. His face lit up. He was pleasantly surprised, which made Lance feel happy. He was always a welcome visitor here. Gary gave Lance a wave to indicate that he’d be with him soon; he just had to take care of something first. Lance nodded. He saw his cousin whisper something to the brunette before he disappeared into the back room. A moment later he came out accompanied by a young man who took over his place behind the counter.
“So, how’s it going?” said Gary as he came over to Lance. “Good. What about you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“I was wondering if we could have lunch together, but I had no idea you’d be this busy,” said Lance apologetically.
“I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it? But I’ve got to have some food sometime, no matter what. Let’s see . . . If you sit down at one of the tables out back, I’ll join you as soon as I can. I’ve just got a few more things to do.”
“Could we sit inside?” asked Lance. “It’s so hot today, and there’s still one free table over there.” He nodded toward the café area.
“Sorry, but we can’t take up space at a table indoors. If you want to dine with the servants, you’ll have to make do with a table out back. Go on and sit down. I’ll bring some food when I join you. What would you like?”
“A grilled chicken sandwich.”
“Diet Coke?”
“Sure. And coffee.”
Lance went out the back door of the big log building and sat down at an empty table. This was where the employees usually ate their lunch, or just took a break, although there clearly wasn’t much time for that today. Here too most of the tables were occupied by tourists.
Surely Gary has to realize there’s no future in that sort of affair, thought Lance. He had to be at least twenty years older than the young woman. But he supposed the relationship had nothing to do with the future or plans to grow closer or anything like that. It was no doubt about an irresistible attraction. Even though Gary was putting his marriage at risk and probably knew the relationship couldn’t last, he must feel alive in a completely different way than Lance felt. And he envied his cousin for that. The last time he was here he’d worried about Gary’s wife, Barb. He thought he was going to have a hard time being around her, since he suspected Gary was carrying on an affair behind her back. But now he no longer cared. He wasn’t happy about the situation, but the next time he saw Barb, he’d be the one hiding a much worse family secret than Gary’s little fling with a summer employee.
“Here’s some coffee while you’re waiting,” said a young voice. Lance looked up. There stood the brunette, smiling at him. She set a coffee mug on the table.
“Gary will join you soon,” she said.
“Thanks. That was nice of you.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He now saw that it wasn’t just her youth that made her so attractive. There was something unique about her, or at least something that might make a person believe there was something unique inside of her. She also had a light dusting of tiny freckles across her nose. So this was the face that had captivated Gary. At least that was what Lance thought was going on.
She suddenly seemed embarrassed and lowered her eyes under his stare. Then she frowned. “You’re bleeding,” she said.
Lance looked down at his hands. The little cut had started bleeding again, although he hadn’t noticed, and blood was now smeared over most of his palm and the inside of his fingers. It looked much worse than it was.
“It’s nothing. Just a little piece of glass that’s stuck in my finger,” he told her.
“You should get it taken out. Wait here and I’ll bring the first aid kit.”
Before Lance could stop her, she dashed inside the buil
ding.
When she returned, she was carrying a first aid kit and a package of moist towelettes. The next instant she was sitting next to him, only a few inches away. She smelled of some sort of floral scent. Maybe from her skin cream, or was it her shampoo? When she took his hand and began cleaning it up with a towelette, the touch of her soft hands came as a shock to Lance. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like that. Maybe she sensed this, because she moved away a bit. Almost imperceptibly, just a slight shift in her center of gravity, but Lance noticed. She retreated a bit.
Then she took a pair of tweezers out of the first aid kit and held them ready in her right hand as she used the fingers of her left hand to squeeze the flesh of Lance’s fingertip. The little cut opened between her fingers. “I can see the glass,” she said. “Hold still now . . .” With a steady hand she inserted the tweezers into the cut.
Lance felt a slight tug as she pulled out the piece of glass. “There,” she said, holding up the tweezers to show him the tiny piece of glass, like a trophy. “Now I’ll just clean it up.”
She sprayed antiseptic on his fingertip. Then she carefully wrapped it in a Band-Aid. “All right. So, I’m sure Gary will be here any minute,” she said, getting to her feet.
Lance watched her go back inside the building. There was something unreal about the thought that she and Gary were having an affair. Was it really possible?
The Land of Dreams (Minnesota Trilogy) Page 25
