“Lucy reached the van driver just south of Gleason,” said Roger. “He’s turning back.”
nine
“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but obtainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.”
John Buchan
Down at the house half an hour later, Helen escorted Osborne and Lew to the dead woman’s room. She unlocked the door. “I haven’t been in here since she left last night.”
It was a spacious room with a double bed tucked into the far left corner. A casement window with ruffled white curtains tied back stood open to the immediate right. A white chenille spread on the neatly made bed matched the color of the curtains. Under the window was a small, round oak table covered with a checkered tablecloth and two chairs next to it. A straw purse was sitting on the table. Along the wall beside the bed was an old oak dresser, and to the right of that was a luggage stand holding an open suitcase.
“Here’s the bathroom….” Helen opened a door to their left. Small but pristine with white ceramic tile and crisp white towels hanging on the log walls, the bathroom looked unused. Cosmetics and a hair dryer were neatly set out on the counter around the sink. “And the closet.” She opened a door next to the bathroom. A black jacket hung in the closet. It looked like silk to Osborne. “Ashley arrived Sunday and was planning to leave tomorrow.”
“Do you mind if we take a few minutes to look around?” Lew implied she would like Helen to leave.
“Not at all. When you’re ready, I’ve got the file with the name of a person to contact in case of emergency,” said Helen. “Did you want to make that call?”
“Yes,” said Lew, looking around. “Is there a phone in here?”
“None of our rooms have phones. You may use my office.”
“Thank you. I’ll want to see your phone bill for the last few days, too.”
Ashley Olson lived in Kansas City and, according to her business card, appeared to own a marketing firm, Olson & Associates. Her driver’s license, checkbook, and wallet were in the straw bag on the table. A second check of the bathroom produced a pair of black pants and a sleeveless black blouse hanging behind the door as if the victim had planned for any wrinkles to steam out while she showered after her run.
“Silk. Expensive,” said Lew, examining the woman’s clothes. “She was planning to look good for someone.”
A small bottle of cologne stood among the cosmetics. “That someone likely to be a man?” offered Osborne.
“You never know,” said Lew. “If I’ve learned anything in the last ten years, it’s never to presume everyone is heterosexual, Doc.”
Osborne noted out loud that the victim had brought along an electric toothbrush, base and all, and she had two packets of floss in her cosmetic kit.
“What does that tell you, Doc?”
“She’s health conscious, a woman of habit. Why else would you haul around the base for your electric toothbrush?”
The rest of her luggage included an extra-long T-shirt with matching leggings, a pair of khaki shorts, and two more T-shirts. An interior section of the soft-sided suitcase held three pairs of good-quality cotton panties and a small velvet case. Lew opened the case. In it gleamed a pair of gold earrings, oblong hoops, and a wide gold wedding band.
“Now that’s interesting.” Lew’s dark eyes caught Osborne’s. “Why wasn’t she wearing her wedding ring? She must have brought it for a reason. She’s obviously a woman of some wealth and must own more jewelry. But all she brings is one pair of earrings and this wedding band….” The room was quiet as the two of them pondered the ring.
“Doc, who do you know has a wife living in Kansas City?”
“Or an ex-wife?”
“Or a fiancée?”
“I doubt that,” said Osborne, “you don’t get married in black. Certainly not in pants.”
“Oh yeah? Rick Streater and his wife got married in their turkey camouflage—”
Helen knocked at the door. “I’ve got a name and number for you when you’re ready.”
As they walked down the stairs, Lew checked her watch. “Oh, golly, it’s after three, and I need to see the Herres. I should have been there an hour ago. This is not good, Doc. That family is in agony.”
“Lew.” Osborne put his hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t I make this call? At the very least, I’ll get enough information for you to follow up on later. That way you can get to Sandy’s folks right away.”
“Thank you.” Lew looked relieved. She paused at the front entry to the lodge. “Tell you what, Doc, if you’ve got the time later, I’ll have Bernie’s Bakery drop off a bag of sandwiches at my office. We can grab some sodas and compare notes while casting a few over in the Tomorrow River flats. Unless you’ve got plans?”
“Heck no, that works fine.” Osborne was surprised and pleased. The last thing he had expected that morning was to end the day fishing with Lew.
As he sat down to pick up the telephone in Helen’s well-organized office, Osborne couldn’t help thinking as he did more often these days: Lewellyn Ferris made him feel like a teenager again. Who would ever expect that a man who’d seen sixty could feel sixteen?
But the happy thought was followed by an equally familiar regret: Why did this have to happen so late in life? Why did she have to be so much younger than he? Hank’s age, probably. Osborne resolved, as he always did, to keep his secret.
ten
“The fish are either in the shallows, or the deep water, or someplace in between.”
Anonymous
“Metro desk, Palmer.” The female voice was tight, curt.
“Hello? This is Dr. Paul Osborne from Loon Lake, Wisconsin—”
“Loon who? Gimme a break. I’m not in the mood for crank calls.” The strident, East Coast accent hit Osborne’s ear like a hammer.
A loud click. Osborne held the phone away in amazement. He punched in the number again.
“Yes!” The same voice barked.
“I’m calling to report the death of someone you know.” Osborne spoke through clenched teeth, his voice low, measured, and insistent.
This time there was a slight pause. “O-o-kay … tell me about it. No, no, wait a minute. Is it someone who lives on this planet?” Her skepticism was a draft of cold air he could feel through the telephone. Did she get calls like this all the time?
“I’m assisting the Loon Lake Chief of Police—”
Again a long pause. The woman on the other end of the line was obviously convinced he was some kind of nut.
“So where the hell is Loon Lake?”
“Northern Wisconsin.”
“You’ve got the wrong newspaper, bud. This is the Kansas City Star. Call a Wisconsin newspaper, would ya?”
That was it. Osborne had had enough.
“Listen, young lady, I don’t care if you are the star and
the moon and your uncle is the Big Dipper, your name was listed as the emergency contact for a young woman who was shot and killed up here. Now will you please shut up and listen?”
Osborne was astounded at the anger that had flooded into his voice. Never in his professional career had he told another adult to shut up. But then never had he been treated so rudely.
“I’m sorry.” Her tone changed abruptly. “Wait a minute, let me go into my office. I’m going to put you on hold, Doctor. Please, wait just a minute.”
Osborne took a deep breath as he waited. Then he took another one. The blood still pumped in his ears.
“All right.” The voice was softer. “Please, who are you trying to call, and what is this all about?”
“A woman by the name of Ashley Olson has been shot and—” said Osborne.
“No!” Gina Palmer shouted into the phone as if refusing to let herself hear him. “No no no no. No-o-o,” she keened. “Oh dear God, this can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it is. She’s dead. I’m with the Loon Lake Police and I … We are sorry to have to call this way, but we didn’t know an
y other—”
“It’s my fault. I knew this could happen. I just, oh God—” she stopped.
Osborne waited a brief moment before asking, “Are you family?”
“Umm. Kind of …” The woman’s voice trailed off, ending with a peculiar sound. Osborne recognized exactly what was happening.
“Take your time,” he said, feeling his own throat tighten. A vivid memory of his calls to his daughters the night of Mary Lee’s death flashed suddenly: their silence, the choking, the quiet sorrow.
“Gina … may I call you Gina?”
“Of course.” The strident tone had disappeared. In its place was the voice of a little girl.
“She gave your name when she registered at the Timber Lake Lodge bed-and-breakfast in Loon Lake, Wisconsin, this past Sunday….” He paused for several beats. “Before I continue … for our records, I need to know your exact relationship to Mrs. Olson. Are you next of kin?”
“What makes you think she was married?” The question came at him like a pistol shot. Osborne held the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Just who was asking the questions here? From little girl to velvet hammer in a matter of seconds. Was the woman schizoid?
“I’m sorry, Doc.” The voice calmed down. “I’m a reporter. I can’t help it. And, um, I’ve kind of been expecting something like this, so you better realize I feel pretty bad. Like I’m responsible in a way. But I’m upset with myself, not you.” She spoke with an easy directness that reminded Osborne of Lew.
“I understand.” He didn’t, but he’d try.
“You asked about Mrs. Olson … but it’s Miss Olson. Ashley wasn’t married. I don’t know why you thought that. But first, please … you must tell me how she died. Was she killed instantly? Did she suffer?” The woman didn’t even breathe between questions.
“I-we-we’re not sure,” Osborne stammered, realizing he had no hope of controlling the conversation.
“You’re holding back. Look, Doc, this conversation is off the record. Ashley was one of my closest, dearest friends. I am not going to report anything you tell me, okay? I don’t write the obit. But you have to tell me every detail, because I may be able to help you find the killer. See, Ashley has … had a penchant for the wrong kind of men. Like I said: I’ve been expecting this. Now, please. Tell me exactly how she died.”
If Gina Palmer was good at anything, she was good at making you feel you had to ante up. And for reasons that went against his better judgment, Osborne felt compelled to answer.
“My guess—and I’m a forensic dentist only, and a retired one at that—is that a high-powered rifle shot to the head may have killed her instantly.”
“May have?”
“I’m not absolutely sure of cause or time of death.”
“Well.” The demanding tone rose in her voice again. “When will you know?” Her implication was clear: Not knowing meant someone wasn’t doing their job.
“The police chief will get a report from the crime lab shortly. We found Ashley’s body just a few hours ago, Gina. This is a very small town up here, and I help out as a deputy when the chief is shorthanded. As I said, I have some forensic experience, but I’m no expert. All I can safely say at this time is we know she was shot and it looked to me—but I could be wrong—it looked like she had multiple stab wounds in her chest … and …” He stopped before he went too far.
“And …?” Too late. She knew he had more to add.
But Osborne balked, remembering that Lew had specifically directed him to keep the bite marks confidential.
“Brutally slashed across the throat and the chest … but, again, I may be wrong. There was a lot of blood.”
“Revenge,” said Gina grimly. “It’s a revenge killing. Why stab when you can shoot? I’ve seen a few murders in my day; I know the signs.”
Osborne wasn’t sure what to say next. As it turned out, he didn’t have to say a thing. Gina had finally decided to answer his first question.
“I’ve been looking after Ashley’s house and her cat, Doc. I’m sorry, do you mind if I call you Doc? I know it’s a little familiar but—”
“Certainly not. And her family?”
“She has none. Both parents have been dead for years. She had one sister who was killed in a car accident a year ago and a husband she divorced ten, maybe fifteen years ago. Doc, was she alone when she died?”
“We think so. She appears to have been out for a run.”
“That fits. Ashley was a fanatic runner … ten miles a day, sometimes longer. She was in excellent physical shape. She could defend herself, too. She must have been with someone she knew.”
“Miss Palmer, is there any chance you might be able to come up here to identify the body and—”
“No problem. I know her lawyer. I’ll make some calls regarding arrangements and all that stuff. It’s the least I can do…. I feel so … responsible.” Her voice dropped, and Osborne heard heartbreak in her last words. Then a quiet sobbing.
The receiver held tight to his ear, Osborne lowered his head as he waited in the swivel chair at Helen’s desk. “Do you have the time for just a few more questions?”
“Look, I’m going to set aside what I’m doing here, take the day off, and get up there as fast as I can. Sure, go ahead, whatever I can do.”
“The obvious one: Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend?”
“I certainly do. Her ex-fiancé.”
Ah, thought Osborne, the wedding ring.
“And this gentleman is who?”
“Who knows what name he’s wearing these days….”
“Michael Winston appeared on the scene four years ago,” said Gina. “He rolled into Kansas City flashing a roll of Texas money, made a big hit with the local bankers, and got himself invited to all the right parties. That’s where he met Ashley. She liked him immediately, brought him in as a consultant, then they were dating, and before long, he wanted to buy into her company. Every step of the way, she was impressed with the guy.
“Can’t blame her; anyone would be. According to his résumé, he had an MBA from Harvard, had been a vice president for several of the big ad agencies on Madison Avenue, his family had made a fortune in real estate down in Houston, yadda, yadda, yadda. She resisted letting him buy in, but she did hire him … brought him on board as her right-hand person and CFO. Bottom line? She was in love with the twerp.”
“You didn’t like him.”
“I met him after the fact. I was assigned to write a profile on the guy for our business section. But …” Gina underscored her but with a long pause. “This was not a random assignment. Her late sister was a copy editor here, and she came to me one day and asked me to do a story on the guy. Chris wanted him investigated. She said she thought he was after Ashley’s money.”
“She had good reason to think that?”
“Yes. She told me her sister had a weakness for the narcissistic type who would say whatever he had to say to gain her affection … and access to her bank account. See, Ashley was a little different. She was moderately attractive, but in her twenties, she had had a type of breast cancer that required the removal of both breasts. Even though she had reconstructive surgery, the scars were deep … psychologically very deep. Chris seemed to think she had poor self-esteem when it came to her body. This made her, in her sister’s view, an easy target and a very vulnerable woman.
“I thought Chris was overstating the case,” said Gina, “but I agreed to look into it. That’s how I came to know this about Ashley. I could see right away why Chris was worried. Here was a bright, successful woman who was always attracted to inappropriate men. I mean, we all are to a certain degree. But Ashley seemed doomed to be attracted to flashy, sleazy guys. The list of men she dated before she met Winston was … well, one creepola after another. Who knows … maybe their father was like that.
“I got the assignment approved, then I called an old friend who’s a sportswriter for the Houston Chronicle to do some background. He recognized Win
ston’s name and had me talk to their lead investigative reporter. He sent up a batch of court documents, and I had Mike Winston cold: no Harvard MBA, no experience working anywhere close to New York City, the real estate fortune was a complete fabrication. Then I ran a database search on his license plates and discovered he had a felony conviction for penny stock fraud. He got off because his father was a well-connected lawyer, but he was forced to leave town.
“So I made an appointment to interview Ashley about her star performer—supposedly—and I delivered the news. I even had a detective fly up from Houston to document everything. Chris was afraid she wouldn’t believe us.
“Ashley was shocked when I told her. Not only had she just made him executive vice president, but she was planning to marry the jerk.” Gina’s voice took on a darker tone. “And she’d put him in charge of all her financials.”
“How big a company is this?”
“Was. She sold out six months ago. Good sized, over a hundred employees. She sold it for ten million dollars.”
“So she’s worth a lot of money?”
“My friend is a woman of substantial means. I would estimate her estate at several million dollars or more, probably a lot more. Her house alone is worth over a million.”
“I see.” Osborne pondered that information.
“You need to find Michael Winston,” said Gina. “My bet is that’s why she was up there. He has to be in the area somewhere.”
“We’ve got a pretty big region up here,” said Osborne. “He certainly isn’t in Loon Lake, because I would know it if he was. But he could easily be in a neighboring town like Presque Isle or Manitowish Waters. I don’t understand. What would be her reason for finding him if what you say is true?”
“That I don’t know. I’ll poke around down here and see what I can find, though. At least I know where to start.”
“How did her sister die?”
“Car accident.”
“Suspicious circumstances?”
“In my opinion, yes. But no one shares my opinion.”
Dead Water Page 6
