“Chief Ferris, I heard the body was cut up and packaged like they butcher deer—is that correct?” asked the reporter from the Loon Lake Daily News.
“The body was not intact,” said Lew. “That is all I can say. We do not want to jeopardize the investigation, so please respect that.”
Mallory stood at the back of the room with copies of a press release that contained statements from each of the speakers. As Lew and Bruce were answering questions from the reporters, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face a tired-looking woman in black jeans and a black T-shirt with short brown hair and no makeup, wearing a press badge that identified her as a reporter from the New York Times. The photo on the badge showed her with no makeup and wearing a black shirt: she matched the picture.
“Whoa, the New York Times. Boy, you got here fast—”
“Got a charter out of Minneapolis. I need to talk to that chief of police,” said the woman before Mallory could finish.
“Sorry,” said Mallory. “The statements made here are as much as the police and the crime lab want made public until they know more. Like everyone else, you’ll just have to wait.”
“No,” said the woman, “this isn’t about reporting. I have information that I think may be helpful in the investigation. I know a person who had a meeting with Jane Ericsson late Friday night and may have been one of the last people to see her alive—and I have reason to think that person’s life is in danger.”
The woman’s intensity convinced Mallory. “Okay, wait here,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The minute Lew stepped down from the podium where she had been standing with Tillman and Bruce, Mallory pulled her aside. In a low whisper, she repeated what the woman had said. “Be careful, Chief,” she said, “you don’t want speaking with her to look like you’re giving an exclusive interview, or all hell will break loose.”
“Good point,” said Lew. “But I’ve got television crews and reporters hanging around the station, too. Any suggestions?”
Mallory puzzled over the situation, then said, “I’ll give her directions to Dad’s house. You can speak privately there.”
“Good. Will you tell your dad what I’m doing and why, and ask him to please meet me there?”
“Done.” Pushing sideways through the crowd and stepping over bags of camera equipment, Mallory edged her way to the rear of the room. She motioned to the reporter. “Meet Chief Ferris here as soon as you can,” she said. She handed the reporter a slip of paper with Osborne’s address. “Do you need a map?”
“No. I can use my phone,” the woman choked and Mallory thought for a second that she would burst into tears. “Be there in ten minutes. By the way—my name is Wendy Marron.”
“Mallory Osborne—” But the reporter didn’t hear her. She was dashing down the stairs toward the exit from city hall.
Twenty minutes later, Lew and Osborne were standing in his kitchen with the reporter from the Times.
“Dr. Osborne, Chief Ferris, I’m Wendy Marron, environmental reporter for the New York Times, which is why I was contacted by this guy, Mike Kelly, from Madison. He’s very involved with an environmental group working to maintain the state’s wetlands, and he has been trying to convince Jane Ericsson, if she was elected, to block a business venture outside Wausau that is threatening to fill in over one hundred acres of pristine wetlands.
“Last month, Kelly’s group received a grant of fifty thousand dollars for their work. They decided to use the money to convince the Ericsson campaign to support their cause, in return for a donation.”
“Of fifty thousand dollars?” asked Lew.
“Yes, but on the condition that Jane Ericsson herself agreed to meet with Kelly. When she heard how much money was involved, her staff set up the meeting. That meeting was supposed to be late this past Friday night at Jane Ericsson’s home here in Loon Lake. I’ve been told that she agreed to accept the donation so long as it was in cash—”
“In cash? That’s strange,” said Osborne. “Why wouldn’t a check be more appropriate?”
“That was a red flag for me, too,” said Wendy. “Kelly said that Jane Ericsson told him she wanted to be sure that the developer—who thought they had a deal—couldn’t trace the donation and accuse her of taking a bribe.”
“But she was taking a bribe,” said Lew.
“Of course she was. Or he thought she was. Now, while I never met Mike Kelly in person, I have spoken to him on the phone and he e-mailed me all the particulars. His plan was to show up, offer the money, and use his cell phone to video the exchange. He was planning to send me and several other reporters the video immediately afterwards.”
“So the national media would have Jane Ericsson on tape accepting a bribe from a constituent …”
“Exactly. I tried to discourage him, because the whole thing didn’t make sense. Why would a politician of Ericsson’s caliber risk her campaign for such a modest amount of money? But Kelly wouldn’t listen, he’s a fanatic. He is so determined to stop the development, to save the wetlands—he would do anything. You know, the guy doesn’t strike me as having a lot of common sense. But that’s beside the point right now.
“Something went wrong, because his girlfriend called me late yesterday, just frantic. He’s disappeared. She keeps trying his cell phone, but there’s no answer. I thought you should know. I mean, the guy has fifty thousand dollars in cash on him … where the hell is he?”
“Can you reach the girlfriend?” asked Lew. “Find out what company he uses for his cell phone, the number, everything she knows. I’ll see if I can put through a trace on his phone right now.”
“Don’t you need a subpoena for that?”
“Not for a rescue. A missing person is not a missing felon. Maybe it turns out he ran off with the money, maybe he met with Jane Ericsson and something went so wrong he killed her, maybe, maybe. But right now I am focused on a person who has gone missing in Loon Lake, and whose life may be at stake. You seem to think so—right?” Lew asked Wendy.
“I do. I may think the guy’s a fanatic, but I do believe his heart is in the right place. If he wanted to steal that money, he didn’t have to drive up here and wait for that woman.”
“You’re sure he did?”
“He texted me from her driveway. Told me to stand by, ’cause he planned to e-mail the video within the hour.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ray knocked on Kaye Lund’s screen door and waited. The afternoon sun was hot on his back, and he noticed the windows along the front of the house had been shoved wide open. After waiting a good minute, he knocked again as he said, “Hello, Kaye? It’s Ray. Need a little help here. Helloooo, anybody home?”
From the darkened room beyond the screen door, a shadow lumbered toward him. With a creak of the hinges, Kaye pushed the door open and beckoned him inside. Her cheeks were damp and her eyes red-rimmed. A balled-up handkerchief that may have been white in a previous life was clutched in one hand. Raising the hanky to her face, she blew her nose long and hard.
“I am so sorry to bother you, Kaye. What an awful time this must be.”
“’S fine. You get your hat okay? I left it at your place.”
“Hat’s great, Kaye. I’ll betcha I can wear it for another ten years. Thank you, but that’s not—”
“I got the memorial service all set for Tuesday morning,” said Kaye. “Father John’s gonna say a funeral Mass even though we may not have a casket …” A sob escaped in spite of her effort to keep her voice level. A quick wipe of the handkerchief at her face, and she managed to force more words out. “Father said it’s okay ’cause it’ll be kind of like a cremation, y’know? And, um, I’ve arranged for the church ladies to have lunch for everyone afterwards.”
“Isn’t that rushing things?” asked Ray, his voice soft. He didn’t want to sound critical, but he wasn’t sure Kaye was thinking clearly. “I mean—Tuesday is only two days from now.”
He could have kicked himself the minute aft
er he spoke. What was he thinking? That Jane’s poor body would somehow reassemble itself for a traditional viewing, Mass, and burial? Chances were the crime lab might not release the remains for months. Kaye’s effort might lend some decency, if not respect, to the grim developments around Jane Ericsson’s death.
“Father John is going fishing in Canada on Thursday. He said it has to be Tuesday or not for another couple weeks. I thought maybe it would be good to get it over with. You know all those college kids that were working for Jane this summer. Be nice if they can attend. Don’t you think? Oh, Ray, did I do the wrong thing?” The despair in Kaye’s eyes broke his heart.
“No, of course not. If Father John thinks it’s okay, then I’m sure he’s right. But you shouldn’t have to pay for the luncheon. Think how many people may come—hundreds, perhaps.”
“I hope so,” said Kaye, her voice shaking as she started to break down. “That,” she sobbed, “… that would make Jane so happy.”
Kaye’s head fell forward, her shoulders shaking. Uncertain what to do next, Ray pulled one of the kitchen chairs up next to the rocker and sat down. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee as he said, “Let me help organize the memorial and the luncheon. You know, Doc’s daughter is visiting, and she can help, too. And I know lots of people who will be happy to chip in a few bucks for the luncheon. For heaven’s sake, Kaye, Jane’s estate must be worth millions. Whoever manages it should help pay for the luncheon, too.”
“Now, Ray, you listen to me,” said Kaye. She paused to blow her nose and wipe at her eyes. Clearing her throat, she sat up straight in the rocker, her chin thrust forward. “Jane was all the family I had. We might have had a little falling out last month, but that was just because of the hoopla ’round the campaign. I know it wasn’t her who got so mad at me. Not really. It was that awful woman she hired. Goddamn spider, that woman.”
Kaye was rocking back and forth with such vengeance, Ray had to reach out and slow her down. When she came to a stop, she leveled her eyes at him, saying, “I am doing this my way, and I don’t want you telling anyone. Promise me you’ll keep your mouth shut?” Her tone softened. “It’s my last chance to take care of little sis.”
Ray got to his feet and patted her shoulder. “I won’t tell a soul, but I insist you let me know if you need help. You promise me that and we’ve got a deal.”
Kaye managed a slight smile. “Deal.”
“Good, that’s taken care of. But, Kaye, the reason I dropped by is I need a pair of your shoes. Chief Ferris wants me to check the grounds around the property for any sign of an intruder. The ground is so soft from the rain, especially around the house where no shrubs have been planted yet. I need to be able to tell your footprints from any stranger’s.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” said Kaye, pushing her heavy body up from the rocker, “but you better check with some of the workmen who’ve been around, too. Hold on, I’ll get you something you can use.” She walked into the kitchen where she leaned down to reach for a pair of black rubber boots. “Here, I always wear these when I’m outside gardening. Will these work?”
A siren wail in the distance drew closer. In less than a minute, a large SUV driven by Randy Kucsmarek, one of the sheriff’s deputies, came hurtling down the drive past the big house and skidded to a stop in the clearing in front of Kaye’s house. Right behind the SUV was Osborne’s Subaru.
The deputy jumped from the driver’s seat and ran up to where Ray and Kaye stood watching him. “Hey, Pradt,” he said, “they got a signal from a cell phone belonging to some guy who’s gone missing for three days. The signal is coming from somewhere in the woods between Rolf Ericsson Drive and the county road. Chief Ferris wants you and Doc Osborne to check it out. See what you can find. If you need help or want to use our K-9 search and rescue dog, give a call. I’m outta here now, though—we got a heck of a problem managing all the idiots driving in to see where the body parts were found. What a circus.” He shook his head in disgust, and climbed back into his vehicle.
“Kaye, how’s it going? Sorry to disrupt you like this,” said Osborne after the deputy had driven off.
“I’m … managing.” As Kaye spoke, they heard a loud bang from the back of the house. “Jeez, what’s that? Sounds like my back door. “Before she could walk back into the kitchen, Lauren Crowell came flying into the front room.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said, looming over Kaye.
“None of your business,” said Kaye, sounding smug as she walked back over to her rocking chair.
Lauren threw an angry look at Osborne and Ray, who were standing speechless. “She’s made arrangements for Jane’s funeral. Got the whole damn town coming to a party. What’s that all about?”
“We call it a wake,” said Kaye, starting to rock. “That’s what we do here when someone passes away.”
Lauren sputtered. “I know what a wake is. Don’t tell me what a wake is. I want a national memorial service for a woman who might have become a U.S. senator, not lunch in a fast food joint.”
“St. Mary’s school cafeteria is not a fast food joint.” Kaye tipped her head higher as she spoke.
Lauren turned to Osborne. “Dr. Osborne, you tell her. It is so tacky to do this.”
“Actually, Lauren,” said Osborne, “I agree with Kaye. Loon Lake needs to mourn its own in its Northwoods way. I would imagine you can arrange another service on a larger stage when it’s appropriate. Maybe in a month or two, in Madison or Washington, D.C. Something with status, like you say. But what Kaye is doing is right for here and now.”
Lauren threw her hands into the air, spun around, and stomped through the kitchen and out the back door. The living room was silent except for a whisper of wood on rug as Kaye rocked. “Kaye, don’t you lock your doors?” asked Osborne.
“Never. This is Loon Lake, Doc. Do you lock your doors?”
“Now that you mention it, no. But I have a dog.”
Kaye shrugged and smiled. Ray and Osborne smiled back, their mutual satisfaction one ray of light in a somber day.
Chapter Seventeen
After placing Kaye’s boots on the passenger seat in his pickup, Ray walked over to Osborne’s car. “Doc, you know where this signal is coming from?” Before Osborne could answer, he said, “Poor Kaye. That woman has aged ten years since we saw her yesterday. And what is the deal with that Lauren woman? Does she need meds?”
“Lauren Crowell was running Jane’s campaign and apparently she believes she is running everything around here. Just be happy she’s not in the car with me. But yes, I’ve got a marked map with me that gives us some idea—”
“Is this connected to the Ericsson murder in some way? I can’t imagine Lew would pull me off that search of the grounds if it wasn’t.”
“Not sure. All we know so far is that this Kelly fellow has been tag-teaming the campaign trying to get Jane to change her position on a wetland development project. His girlfriend got in touch with a reporter he was e-mailing to say he hasn’t been heard from since Friday night, when he supposedly had a meeting with Jane at her home. The girlfriend is convinced he’s lost or drowned or something.” Osborne raised his eyebrows as he said, “Oh, I forgot to mention—the guy was carrying fifty thousand dollars in cash.”
“In cash? What was this? A drug deal?”
“Who knows. He told the girlfriend it was to be a donation to the campaign that would encourage Jane to support his cause. V-e-r-y fishy. On the other hand, the guy was a fanatic on the issue, and this is politics.”
“True,” said Ray. “But hauling around fifty grand in cash is a good way to encourage a Jack Pine savage to support his wish for breaking your legs. So tell me again—exactly where are we going?”
“Got it right here,” said Osborne reaching for the plat book on the passenger seat. “Want to remind you of one thing, in case that sheriff’s deputy shows up again. Lew has not told anyone Mike Kelly’s real reason for being up here but you, me, and Mallory. She wants to ru
n this like a rescue search for a missing tourist. If it’s a search for a suspect, she has to get a subpoena for the phone trace, and that could take a couple days.”
“Chief Ferris strikes again,” said Ray with a conspiratorial smile. “You sure she’s not smarter ’n you are, Doc?”
“Thank you,” said Osborne. “I’ll remember that remark when you need a referral to a good endodontist. Okay, here we go,” he said as he held the open plat book so that Ray could see the page. “The trace on the signal shows that it’s somewhere within this area.” Osborne pointed to a circle drawn on a map. “Can’t pinpoint any closer than this—we have to search on foot.”
“Hmm,” said Ray, studying the map. “You know where this is, don’t you?”
“I know there’s a couple of logging roads back in there. Doesn’t this land belong to the paper mill?”
“Doc, that’s the old town dump,” said Ray. “Been closed for years. My buddies and I used to ride our bikes back in there to watch the bears.”
“You’re right. I forgot about that. Okay, since you know the area, I’ll follow you.”
Back on the county road, Ray watched for signs of an old logging lane he knew was likely to lead back into the area marked on the plat map. A faint impression in an overgrown ditch along the highway looked promising. He pulled over.
“Doc, you better ride with me. This Subaru of yours rides so low you might get stuck.”
“Good idea,” said Osborne, reaching for his black bag. He hurried over to Ray’s truck and opened the driver’s side door. “Mind letting me slide in from your side?”
“Oh, sure,” said Ray. “Sorry. Always forget that other door doesn’t work.”
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