The more good things were said, the more Osborne wondered what went wrong. If Gina knew her as a woman of vision who could build a management team as easily as she built a landmark mansion, then where did she make her strategic mistake? And why did she travel so far from her home—so secretly? What made her so determined to see someone who wanted to see her … dead?
A wave of sadness played across Gina’s face as she pulled the sheet up and back, then layered it, fold on fold, across the waxen surface of her friend’s naked abdomen. She looked down, studying the still form. Her professionalism showed; someone unaccustomed to violent death would have turned away.
The wounds were more obvious now that the crusty blood had been cleaned up. Osborne found them hard to look at, especially the slashing across the upper torso. He backed off to lean against the wall. Lew stood quietly behind Gina, moving with her as she moved around the body. In a low voice, she asked Gina to confirm that this was indeed Ashley Olson. Gina whispered an answer, then stood perfectly still, staring down in silence.
And as she stood there, her back straight, her head bowed slightly, a phrase from a Native American prayer for the dead ran through Osborne’s mind: “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there; I did not die.” Nice phrase; not true.
Gina turned and gestured for Lew and Osborne to stand beside her. Her face was slick with silent tears. She pushed a few loose curls back from Ashley’s forehead and then, touching her chin, tipped the dead woman’s head slightly to the right to more fully expose the gaping wound left by an exiting bullet. Her face hardened, but she said nothing. Then, pointing to the slashes that crisscrossed Ashley’s chest and sliced into the throat, Gina threw her hands up in an expression of futility. “This is hate,” she said. “Fury.”
She lowered the sheet further. She examined the left hand, then the right. “No cuts. She didn’t even try to defend herself.”
“I don’t believe she had the opportunity.” Lew spoke softly. “The preliminary lab report states she died instantly from the bullet with all this occurring later. We’ll have a complete report in a day or so.”
Gina nodded.
Lew had been watching Gina carefully as she studied the corpse. Now she placed a comforting hand on Gina’s shoulder as she leaned forward. “Did you see these?” she said, pointing.
“No.” Gina had to bend over to see the bite marks on each shoulder. She looked up, confused.
“Human bites,” said Lew. “We found the same marks on another victim. Please keep this confidential, by the way.”
Gina looked at her in surprise. “The other one … killed with a high-powered rifle?”
“Yes,” said Lew.
“No.” Gina shook her head angrily, the blue eyes sparking. “If you think Ashley was the victim of some random attack, some serial killer, I can assure you, I disagree. This … this slashing and cutting … I know that Michael Winston did this. I have proof that I’ll show you when we leave here.” She paused for a moment. “Did the other victim have slash marks like these?”
“No,” said Lew. “Only the bite marks are similar … but they are in the same location on both victims.”
Gina shook her head. “I don’t know how or why that could happen, but I am convinced that if we can find Michael Winston, we’ll have the man who killed Ashley.” She reached to pull up the sheet, then paused. She leaned forward like a parent over a sleeping child.
“And so we die before our own eyes,” she whispered, bending to place a kiss on the shattered face. She laid the sheet down gently, then turned to Lew. Still whispering, she said, “I spoke to her lawyer and several close friends. When you release the body, I’ll arrange for cremation, and I’ll take Ashley home with me.”
Lew held her arms out as if she expected Gina to weep, but Gina shook her head, straightened her shoulders, wiped at her cheeks, and walked briskly out of the small room, grim resolve, not grief, on her face.
sixteen
“Fishermen are born honest, but they get over it.”
Ed Zern, Field & Stream
Hauling the wooden armchair across the oak floor in the sunny office, Gina planted herself in front of Lew’s desk and slapped down a stack of the file folders.
“I brought you everything I’ve got. Except for any photos of Winston. Our paper has been converting all the paper files in the morgue onto disk, but very slowly, with society photos having the last priority, dammit. The ones I wanted, which are from four years ago, haven’t been scanned in yet. But I am having them pulled and FedExed up here, hopefully by Friday. These are my own files.”
Gina leaned forward, arms on her knees, a cup of black coffee in her right hand. Osborne noted once again what a striking woman she was. Quite slim in narrow-legged black slacks and a long-sleeved black shirt, Gina’s porcelain face with its crystal-blue eyes looked carved from stone, an effect reinforced by the severe cut of her straight black hair. The hair, cut blunt to her lower jaw, framed the outline of her perfectly oval face. She was a tiny woman, he realized. Even her teeth were tiny. But her sex and her size hardly diminished her.
Osborne was amused to find that her direct, no-nonsense approach mirrored Lew’s to a point. Lew’s speech pattern, however, was quite the opposite of Gina’s. Where the reporter ran on nonstop, scarcely taking a breath, Lew was a listener, always watching and succinct in her remarks.
Lew seemed to have warmed instantly to Gina, which was not her usual pattern with strangers. Not only had she shared the information on the bites, but she had handed over the preliminary report from the Wausau tech, saying, “Let me know if anything in here catches your eye.”
The report, basically a listing of the tissue and fluid samples taken, along with the clothing and samples from the site, said nothing new except that the full report would be completed in forty-eight hours or slightly longer. Also included were copies of photos shot at the scene and in the small morgue. Nothing on it caught Osborne’s eye, anyway.
“You’re kidding. Forty-eight hours?” Gina was appalled.
“At least,” said Lew. “Just think where I’d be if I didn’t have Doc here to help me with a basic ID. Jeez, Doc, that reminds me. Do you know if Ray got to Timber Lodge before the rain last night? Roger said he canvassed the four homes in the half-mile radius around the site but found nothing. I was hoping Ray might have taken a look in those woods back there—”
“I doubt he had a chance, Lew. He didn’t say anything and he’s got a pretty full plate right now. But I’ll see him this afternoon.”
“How many people will be working on this case?” asked Gina.
Lew rocked back in her chair and snorted.” This is a very small town and a very small police force. I have two fulltime deputies, whom I inherited.” She stressed her last word, underscoring her not-so-high opinion of Roger and his cohort.
As she spoke, Osborne sipped his coffee. It was just the right temperature and tasted great. In fact, life was great. Nothing beat sitting here, listening to Lew, seeing her smile, watching her eyes darken in thought. And he loved to hear her snort. Never in his life had he expected a woman to snort. This is happiness, old man, he told himself as he took another sip.
“Those two can’t keep up with parking-meter fines, drunk drivers, and old ladies upset because their trash didn’t get picked up,” Lew was going on. “So when I have a serious problem, like these murders, I am very fortunate to get help from Dr. Osborne and—when I absolutely must—Ray Pradt.” Her emphasis implied Ray was the last guy she called.
“Don’t get me wrong.” She looked at Gina. “Ray is the best tracker in the county, which is why I hope to hell he got out to Timber Lake. We know the killer’s vehicle had to be back in there somewhere. If anyone can find a trace of it, it’ll be Ray.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Gina, sipping from her coffee. “I’m missing something here. Sounds to me like Ray should be working full-time for you. I don’t mean to be critical, Chief, but I know what I look for when I
hire an investigative reporter.”
“Well …” Lew raised her eyebrows and glanced quickly at Osborne. “Ray maintains his own list of misdemeanors, which are well known to our Loon Lake community. It so happens I have to report to the mayor and the town board, and some of those folks give me trouble when I use Ray.”
“What kind of misdemeanors?” Gina’s rapid-fire delivery was beginning to sound normal.
“You’ve met Ray?”
“At the airport. Interesting man. Quite personable. I’d say he has some style issues, but otherwise he’s okay.”
“Style issues?” Lew’s eyebrows went up.
“The fish chapeau is a bit much.” Gina chuckled.
“Personable, huh.” Lew looked at Gina. “He’s too personable. Guy refuses to grow up, Gina. At least once a season, somebody nabs him on the Flowage astral-traveling. I don’t know how he finds the stuff, but he does. And poaching. In Ray’s world the natural universe belongs to everyone. He has no respect for private land.”
“This is not murder one,” said Gina. “Though I can see he’s not going to get the Republican nomination for president.”
“It’s an irritation,” said Lew. “Every time I need his help, I have to prostrate myself before all these nincompoops. Ah …” Lew waved her hand in disgust. “I shouldn’t get into it. I get my way in the end and Ray makes a few bucks. Everyone wins in the long run, I guess. But …” Lew waggled a finger at Gina, “watch the personable. This is a warning.”
“I hear you.” Gina gave Lew a broad grin, and Lew grinned back. Osborne, watching the two women, was confused. Then it dawned on him. Without even being there, Lew knew Ray would have an interest in Gina. Or was it vice versa? He’d have to keep his eyes open. Jeez, how did Ray do it?
“So Ray Pradt makes a living as a fishing guide?”
“And he digs graves on the side,” said Lew, “in the heat of the summer when the fish aren’t biting.”
“And the dead of the winter,” said Osborne. “Sorry. Poor choice of words, but Christmas is Ray’s busiest season for digging graves. Every year it’s the same.”
Gina’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “C’mon.”
“No, we’re very serious,” said Lew. “Strange as it may sound, that’s another reason it works for me that Ray isn’t a full-time cop. This is not the most affluent community, Gina. Because Ray’s out there making a buck however he can—running a backhoe at the cemetery or shoveling the library roof in the winter—he’s connected. He knows everyone, he hears everything.”
“I get the picture,” said Gina. “He’s your street source.”
Lew nodded. “That’s one way to put it.”
“The mayor and the town board are good people,” said Osborne, “but they forget that the Northwoods is also home to folks who don’t identify their whereabouts with a fire number—”
“Or a mailbox decorated with pine trees,” said Lew. Osborne threw her a look. He had one of those.
“Or an income tax return?” said Gina.
Lew sat back in her chair. “Does that answer your question on who I’ve got to work this case?” said Lew.
“It makes me think you won’t mind my two cents,” said Gina.
“Not at all,” said Lew. “Not at all.” She shook her head as she waved a ballpoint pen over the notepad in front of her. “Tell me everything you can about Ashley and her friend, Mr. Winston, but don’t take it personally if I don’t tell you everything or if I have to tell you to back off. Understood?”
“Tell me to back off, tell me to shut up, but let me tell you,” Gina pointed her empty coffee cup at Lew, “we’re gonna get this guy, and I’m gonna be there.”
“Help yourself to more coffee,” said Lew, pointing to a half-full pot on the small oak table to the side of her office door. “Gina, before we go any further, you said at the morgue that you have proof the ex-fiancé is involved. What kind of proof?”
“Never thought you’d ask,” said Gina, standing up. She had slipped her hand into her purse while Lew was talking. Now she pulled out a long, cream-colored envelope addressed in script. She handed it to Lew before walking over to refill her coffee cup. “I found this in Ashley’s desk drawer last night. My hunch is there were plane tickets included, too.”
Lew pulled out a single sheet of expensive, buff-colored stationery, read the brief message, and handed it to Osborne.
“Dearest,” read the letter, “You have no idea how important that moment of hearing your voice on the phone was to me. I still cannot believe how lucky I am that you found me. I can’t wait to see you. I love you. I want to return everything—including my heart.” The signature was a flourish that started with a large M.
Lew looked at Gina. “No date. What am I missing here?”
Gina waved her hand airily. “Check out the postage mark.”
Lew looked at the front of the envelope, then handed it to Osborne. The postmark was Loon Lake, Wisconsin, dated two weeks ago. The postage was metered.
“That’s right here,” said Lew, a quizzical look in her eyes.
“I know. I checked the map. I figured you wouldn’t have any problem getting your post office to check the number on that postage meter,” said Gina. “That could be Michael Winston’s big mistake.”
Lew checked her watch. “The post office is closed for lunch.”
At the expression of disbelief on Gina’s face, Osborne jumped in. “This is a small town, Gina; our post office closes from eleven to two every day. They don’t even open on Saturday.”
Gina rolled her eyes as she reached for the first stack of file folders. “Okay, then. I’ll run through this background quickly.”
seventeen
“Regardless of what you may think of our penal system, the fact is that every man in jail is one less potential fisherman to clutter up your favorite pool or pond.”
Ed Zern, Field & Stream
“These are my personal files.” Gina separated her stack of manila folders into three precise piles on Lew’s desk. The tab on each file was labeled in tiny script and not a sheet of paper poked out from a folder
They reminded Osborne of his own organized, detailed dental records. Settling back in the other wooden armchair, he caught Lew’s eye. She was impressed, too. That didn’t surprise him, having witnessed Lew’s meticulous sorting of her trout flies and muskie lures.
“By the way,” he said to Lew as they waited for Gina, who had reached into her briefcase to pull out her notebook computer, “looks like a cold front moving in tonight. Why don’t we try for muskie off my dock? Just give it an hour. Still haven’t tried that Striker of yours.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Lew. “I’ll be ready to soothe the old brain, and the streams are getting a little warm for trout. But I doubt I can make it before seven. I’ve got a ton of paperwork on Sandy Herre that I just haven’t had time to finish up. Is seven too late?”
“No-o-o. Heck, it’s light till eight-thirty. Tell you what, Lew. I’ve got a few venison chops in the freezer,” said Osborne. “We’ll fish for an hour or so, then I’ll throw those on the grill.”
Lew looked pleased. “I’ll see if I can scare up some dessert.”
Jeez. Osborne resisted pinching himself. The day was getting better by the minute.
“Okay, I’m ready,” said Gina, making eye contact with both of them as she sat down. “I want you to know why I’m so sure Michael Winston lured Ashley up here. I also think there may be something in this background that will help you find him. I don’t know what that might be exactly, so I know I’m going to tell you more than you need to know—”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Lew. “You just talk, and we’ll listen. I’ll stop you when I have a question.”
“Thank you,” said Gina, her eyes determined. “This goes back about two years. I had decided to profile Michael Winston for reasons that included—but went beyond—my friendship with Ashley Olson.
“My initial urge to investigate the
guy was basic reporter cynicism, the reason we all go into this business. As a senior editor on the business desk at the Star, I was hearing about him constantly and finding a lot of what I heard a little hard to believe, just too good to be true. He’d been in town only a year, but already he was everywhere. The business community couldn’t get enough of him.
“First, he was Mr. Bigshot, worth sixty million bucks; then he was the new board member of the most prestigious bank in town, then he was chairman of the big horse show; and then …” Gina raised a finger significantly, “he was voted Kansas City’s Bachelor of the Year. Need I say my feminine instincts kicked in?
“To back up for a second: Before Winston arrived on the scene, I wrote a similar profile on Ashley Olson and the extraordinary success of her start-up. We hit it off during the interviews. Later, she wanted help writing a book about her business, and I started coaching her through that process. That’s how we met and became good friends.”
“So you and Ashley were personal friends before Michael Winston came on the scene?” said Lew.
“Very much so. We would have lunch or dinner a couple times a month. We belonged to the same gym, so we would work out or play tennis together. We were both single women in our mid-thirties with high-stress careers. We were on the same wavelength. Know what I mean?”
Lew and Osborne nodded.
“So if one or the other of us wasn’t seeing someone, it was fun to do something together. I think Ashley liked me because I was very different from her other friends, who were mostly wealthy society or business types. And she had a good sense of humor, which I got a kick out of.
“But what she didn’t have was any sense when it came to men. I mean any. She dated the biggest jerks. I told her that, too. Many times!”
Gina sat back in her chair, crossed her legs, and started kicking her top leg furiously. “She went out with a guy who was in the Kansas City mob for a while. I told her she was crazy. Stark raving mad.”
Dead Water Page 10
