Dead Tease

by Victoria Houston

  Nor did she appear to mind the attention.

  “Got one more person coming,” Ray had announced when Lew and Doc strolled down his sandy drive from Doc’s house.

  “Bruce?” said Osborne. “You said you were inviting him.”

  “Well, actually, Leigh called with a question on the webcam and I invited her, too.”

  “Oh, and Jim?” Lew had grimaced and caught Osborne’s eye. An evening with friends was beginning to sound like work.

  “No, Leigh said he has a business dinner tonight. After that he’s taking the group for a cruise on that boat of his. I could tell she was feeling left out so—”

  Lew raised a hand, “Rescuing a damsel in distress.” She turned to Doc, “Haven’t we heard this one before?”

  And so Ray’s halibut picnic had turned into a gathering of five: Bruce, Lew, Doc, Ray, and Leigh. It was a happy, relaxed group as everyone appeared to have decided to set the real world aside and relish the evening.

  Standing with a plate of walleye cheeks in one hand and a bottle of Spotted Cow beer in the other, Leigh Richards was peppering Bruce with questions on his work at the crime lab. Nearby, listening as the two spoke, Ray hovered over his charcoal grill with its foil-wrapped slabs of halibut.

  Every few minutes, Ray would interrupt with a question of his own. Seated by Ray’s fire pit in a pair of green plastic Adirondack chairs, Lew and Doc sat listening to the threesome’s easy banter.

  Osborne was relieved to see Lew relax at last. She had said little about her conversation with Chet Tillman. If the evening continued to go this well, maybe he could get her to open up. He knew from his own experience sometimes just talking things over made them much less disturbing.

  “You’ve been watching too much television,” said Bruce with a snort after one of Leigh’s more egregious assumptions of how DNA technology worked. “That’s not real life. That’s Hollywood’s idea of DNA analysis. Day-to-day lab work is much more mundane. Trust me, DNA analysis does not happen in thirty minutes.”

  “Really?” asked Leigh. It was Osborne’s turn to catch Lew’s eye: they could see Leigh was tickled by the attention she was getting. She turned to them, “Chief Ferris, I didn’t see the news today—do we know who killed that young woman from the clinic?”

  “Still working on it,” said Lew in a matter-of-fact tone designed to put an end to that discussion.

  “Oh, sorry I brought it up,” said Leigh, “you’re off duty and I should know better.”

  “That reminds me,” said Bruce beckoning to Lew with a wave. “Chief, something I should share with you. I’m hoping to hear from a buddy of mine working at the lab tonight.” He walked over, leaving Leigh to focus on Ray. “Do you mind? Just take a minute.”

  “C’mon, what did I just say about work?” said Lew, getting to her feet with a chuckle and following him a short distance up the drive.

  Bruce spoke quietly as he said, “I found an envelope on the floor of the stolen pickup and I hope you don’t mind that I sent it off for a detailed DNA analysis. It didn’t fit with everything else I found in the truck.

  “I had fingerprints all over the vehicle that belong to the owner and plenty on the gear shift and steering wheel matching Alvin Marski. But the envelope was light blue and made from a heavier stock like you would find with expensive stationery. It was clean, too, so it hadn’t been there long.”

  Lew studied Bruce’s face. “Are you thinking that’s the kind of envelope that a woman might use?”

  “It reminded me of my mom’s stationery,” said Bruce. “And it appeared to have been sealed. If we’re lucky we may get DNA off the saliva.”

  “I’m glad you sent it off. Certainly worth checking into,” said Lew. “Any news from the pathologist handling the autopsy on Jennifer Williams?”

  “Nothing yet. I’m expecting a report first thing Monday. The knife has been sent down to the lab, and Ray and I took photos and a casting of the footprints at the McNeil house this morning.”

  “When are you heading back to Wausau?”

  “Tomorrow, but I’ll be back up Tuesday. Taking the day off to try out that fishing kayak of Ray’s.”

  “Oh no, he’s roped you into that, too?” Lew laughed. At that moment her cell phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. “Excuse me, Bruce,” she said, “tell the group I’ll be right back as soon as I get rid of this call.”

  “Don’t keep the halibut waiting,” said Bruce, shaking a warning finger.

  “Chief Ferris here,” said Lew as he walked off.

  “Chief Ferris, this is Kerry Schultz—from the clinic. Sorry to call you on a Sunday—”

  “That’s okay, Kerry. What’s up?”

  Lew listened to the woman’s story and when she had finished, said, “This is very helpful. I’m glad you called. Are you confident all this is true?”

  Kerry’s answer prompted a nod from Lew. “Good. I appreciate your telling me this, Kerry. If it turns out to have a bearing on the case, are you prepared to testify?” Again she listened. “Thank you, Kerry. After I write up everything you’ve told me, I’d like to run it by you for accuracy. I’ll be in touch first thing in the morning.”

  Lew walked down to the picnic table where Ray was in the midst of serving the halibut, French fries, and a plate of sliced homegrown tomatoes. Leigh heaped her plate high and giggled at some remark from Ray. It was a happy look that would be short-lived.

  Lew glanced over to see Osborne watching her with concerned eyes. She gave a slight nod and voiced the word “Later.”

  “Kerry Schultz, the nurse from the clinic who was Jennifer’s close friend, called while I was talking to Bruce,” said Lew in a low voice as she and Osborne stood on Ray’s dock watching the sun disappear behind the pines on the far shore.

  From the house trailer up behind them came the sounds of Bruce’s hearty laughter mingled with Leigh’s bubbly chatter as the two helped Ray clean up the dinner dishes.

  Osborne waited, aware that Lew’s face said it all: Kerry had delivered disturbing news.

  “Jim McNeil has been having an affair with Cynthia Daniels,” said Lew. “For at least six months that Kerry is aware of. He tried breaking it off a month ago.”

  “Hmm,” said Osborne. He recalled Cynthia’s anger in McNeil’s office. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “He’d been sleeping with Jennifer Williams these last few weeks. Kerry said she felt awful telling me something her friend had told her in strictest confidence, but she can’t help thinking Cynthia’s behavior these last few weeks might be tied to Jennifer’s death. Called Cynthia a pathological liar.”

  “A family tradition,” said Osborne. “What do you plan to do?”

  “Nothing tonight,” said Lew. “I’ll deal with it in the morning.” She turned toward the sounds of hilarity coming out of Ray’s trailer. “I wonder how much Leigh knows about her husband.”

  “She can’t be too stupid,” said Osborne.

  “O-o-o-h, I don’t know about that, Doc. We can all be as stupid as we need to….”

  And don’t I know that, thought Osborne.

  Half an hour later as they were sitting around the bonfire toasting marshmallows, Leigh’s cell phone rang. She spoke into it briefly then hung up. “Jim’s not taking the boat out after all. They’re all having one more nightcap at the club.”

  “Looks like I’m going home to an empty house,” she said, sounding like a little girl.

  “I’ll follow you,” said Bruce, “make sure you get in okay.”

  “No, I’ll follow her,” said Ray. “Gives me a chance to check those webcams, make sure they’re working.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Leigh pulled her car into the garage, Ray noticed Jim’s vehicle was not there yet. Good, hardly a burden to keep her company for another thirty minutes or so. Ray pulled past the garage to park in the far corner so his pickup would not be in the way.

  Getting out of the truck and looking past the house down toward the lake, h
e saw a light on in the boathouse.

  “Leigh,” said Ray, stopping her as she started to open the front door. “Your husband may be back—I see lights on in the boathouse.”

  “But his car isn’t here,” said Leigh. She finished opening the door, set her purse on a table in the foyer, and walked back out to stand next to Ray. Her shoulder brushed his and he didn’t move away.

  “Hey, you’re right,” she said, starting down the lawn with Ray behind her. “But I tried him on his cell phone a few minutes ago and he didn’t answer. Maybe he turned it off by accident?”

  As they got closer, Ray heard a grinding noise as if a motor was turning over and over and not catching. It didn’t sound right. “Someone’s having trouble with the inboard?” he asked as Leigh opened the door.

  “Oh God,” she backed away both hands to her face. “Oh God.”

  Ray pushed past her through the open door. To the far right against the wall, the cabin cruiser was tilting at an odd angle while the gears for the boatlift struggled to mesh. Caught in the gears was something black and red: something no longer human.

  Ray dashed across the deck, past the dangling boat to the switch on the wall behind the boat. He flipped it down and all was quiet. With a soft plop, something fell into the water. The water turned crimson.

  Osborne and Lew arrived within minutes, an ambulance with three EMTs close behind. As the EMTs raised the bloody mass entangled in shreds of dark cotton, they watched, hoping to identify the victim. No luck. The gears had been churning long enough to eradicate any human features. It was impossible at this point to tell if it was a man or woman.

  “Only thing I’ve ever seen like this,” said one of the EMTs, “is that guy who fell in a wood chipper a few years back.” One by one the EMTs took turns stepping outside for a breath of fresh air or to vomit.

  After calling Todd and Roger for help searching the area for any sign of who the victim might be—and calling in support from the sheriff’s office—it was a sheriff’s deputy who located the car.

  It had been parked on an access road used by the power and light company to service a transmitter for the neighborhood. The road ran along the far side of the McNeil property and was hidden behind a grove of spruce trees. A woman’s purse and a set of keys lay on the front seat of the unlocked car. In the purse was a Wisconsin driver’s license issued to a thirty-seven-year-old female: Cynthia Daniels, M.D.

  Meanwhile, calls to Jim McNeil’s cell phone continued to go unanswered. The bartender at the country club said that he had left an hour earlier with several other men. As it was, he didn’t arrive home until after the EMTs had left with the corpse.

  “What the hell?” he asked, running down to the boathouse, which was now well lit both inside and out. Police and sheriff’s vehicles clogged his driveway, including a van from the television station.

  “Please stand back, Jim,” said Lew as he came running at her. “We have an accident victim, maybe a crime scene. Please, you can’t go there—let everyone do their jobs—”

  “Leigh? Is Leigh all right?”

  “She’s up in the house. She’s been trying to reach you.”

  “Sorry. I just realized my phone was turned off—been that way since a meeting late this afternoon. I am so sorry about that.”

  Lew waved off the apology. “You and I need to talk,” she said, “in private. Let’s take some time up there on the patio.”

  “Right now? Can it wait?”

  “No.”

  At that moment Lew’s cell phone rang. The switchboard operator for the sheriff’s department had official confirmation from the DOT that the car parked on the access road was licensed to Cynthia Daniels.

  “Excuse me, Chief Ferris,” said a woman’s voice from behind Lew as she ended the phone call. “I want to hear what Jim has to say, too.”

  Lew whirled around. She hadn’t heard anyone coming. “Leigh, no. I have questions for your husband—not you. We’ll talk later.”

  “Please,” said Leigh. “This is a horrible accident that has happened on our property—property that belongs to me, too. I want to hear everything and I want to hear it now.”

  Lew gave her a long, hard look. “My questions are not all about this accident.”

  As if a heavy weight had been lifted, the woman’s shoulders straightened. “I know that,” said Leigh in a soft tone. “I’ve known for a long time that things are not right here. Please….”

  “Jim?” Lew looked over at McNeil. “Do I have your permission to include your wife in this discussion?”

  Head down and staring at his feet, Jim nodded. He knew what was coming. “Okay, you two, if you are not too cold in this night air, let’s talk up on the patio.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The halogen lights from the side of the house turned the patio with its round table and four chairs into a surreal version of an interrogation booth. The EMTs had left and only Ray and Bruce remained down at the boathouse where they cordoned it off until morning.

  “I’ll be here first thing in the morning, Chief,” said Bruce. “Left a message for the lab that we had a new development and not to expect me in the office.”

  “You both look exhausted,” said Lew addressing both Ray and Bruce. “Go home, get some sleep, and we’ll sort all this out in the morning.”

  At Lew’s request, Osborne had settled into the fourth chair on the patio. Feeling fatigued—it was after three A.M.—he felt the best he could do right now was listen hard and take notes.

  “Jim,” said Lew, “tell me about your relationship with Dr. Daniels. Her car was found parked on the access road on the other side of those trees,” Lew pointed in the direction of the trees. “Her purse was there, other personal items. Her mother was called and confirmed that she was not at home—nor was she at the clinic.

  “We believe the remains found in the boathouse are those of Cynthia Daniels.”

  Twisting his head from side to side as if to deny what Lew had just said, McNeil erupted: “That woman—that woman keeps barging into my life! A month ago I thought I made it clear we were over. She seemed to understand … then.”

  Sitting across from her husband in a chair pushed back from the table, Leigh asked in a voice so firm it surprised Osborne: “Jim, how long had this one been going on?”

  “Hold on,” said Lew. “Leigh, please, no more questions. I’m willing to let you sit in because we haven’t determined the nature of Dr. Daniels’s … accident—but I have to be the one to ask the questions.” Leigh nodded.

  “Back to your wife’s comment,” said Lew. “Have there been others, Jim? More women than Cynthia?”

  “Yes.” McNeil pursed his lips. “One before Cynthia and …”

  Leigh looked off into the dark, and Osborne got the distinct impression her husband’s philandering came as no surprise.

  “I became involved with Cynthia about nine months ago,” said Jim. “We got together during a national health conference in San Diego. Didn’t take long before I knew I’d made a mistake—”

  “Why is that?” asked Lew.

  “She wanted too much. She invaded my life. Always e-mailing, following me around. She would show up uninvited at clinic business meetings, staff luncheons. I’d go into the cafeteria and she’d be across the room. The woman was smothering.”

  Jim leaned across the patio table, hands clenched. “I can see today she was unbalanced. But I’ve known jealous women to do stuff like that. Just took awhile to realize how extreme she was. God, what was I thinking?” He threw his hands high and sat back in the chair.

  “You were concerned she would do what?” asked Lew. “Call your wife?”

  “Yes. I don’t want a divorce. Believe it or not,” he raised desperate eyes to meet Leigh’s: “I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a … such a fool.” He broke into sobs.

  Leigh sat still. “Little late,” she muttered. “Sorry,” she said with a glance at Lew.

  “Back to earlier this evening,” said Lew,
pen poised over her notepad, “how did Dr. Daniels know where you would be tonight?”

  McNeil struggled to pull himself together. He wiped at his nose and face with a handkerchief. “I, um, one of the techs at the clinic told me she’s been accessing my secretary’s computer—and my schedule. The woman is not stupid—she is very smart. That’s what makes her a good physician.”

  Leigh snorted.

  “So your schedule for today—”

  “Included nine holes of golf, then dinner at the club and a twilight cruise back here on my boat. I imagine she planned to surprise me. She did it a couple times early this summer.”

  “With a happier ending I assume,” said Lew. Jim dropped his head.

  “The other women. Who were they?”

  Osborne noticed a slight hesitation before Jim said, “Woman. Two years ago, I had a brief relationship with one of our bookkeepers, Corrine Jensen. She’s since moved to Appleton.”

  “That’s everyone?” asked Lew.

  “Yes.”

  “Jim, I have to ask you this question: did you kill Cynthia Daniels?”

  “No, of course not,” said Jim with a weak laugh. “If anyone has any doubts, I can account for every minute of my time from four o’clock this afternoon until I got here….”

  “Do you think Cynthia Daniels was capable of murder?”

  “You must be kidding—she’s in the business of healing people. Now, do I think she was capable of stalking me? Yes. The awful thing is she had me convinced that Leigh was the crazy one.”

  “May I say something?” asked Leigh. Lew nodded for her to go ahead. “Jim’s not the only person who thought I was crazy. For months I’ve thought I was losing my mind. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that suicide has crossed my mind.

  “I’ve had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been having panic attacks and—who knows? If things had gotten much worse … That Daniels bitch almost pulled it off.”

  “Thank you, Leigh,” said Lew. “One last question, Jim—and I know we’re all tired, so I’ll be brief. Has there been another woman in the past month with whom you have been intimate besides Cynthia?”