Dead Water

by Victoria Houston

  He gave a deep sigh and shook his head, saying, “What is happening in this town?”

  He glanced over to where his wife stood near the casket, her head bowed, her cheeks sunken with grief. Osborne’s heart ached at the sight of their faces. He could not begin to imagine losing one of his daughters. Even though he knew today that his life with Mary Lee had been hard, her unexpected death had left a hole too large, a hole he tried to plug with booze, until he put his own life in jeopardy. Thank God for the courage of the living; thank God for Erin’s willingness to force him into recovery.

  Osborne reached to put his arm around Phil’s shoulder. He gripped firmly, wanting Phil to know that he understood. Turning toward Osborne, Phil returned the embrace for a brief moment. Osborne felt rather than heard the hard sob. Phil turned his face away as he raised his head, a thankful pat on the arm his parting gesture.

  Before he could return to the bier, a young woman broke from the group and walked over to them. Slipping a protective arm around her father’s waist, she extended her hand to Lew.

  “Chief Ferris,” she said, “I’m Carolyn Gardner, Sandy’s youngest sister.” As she spoke, the priest, Father Vodicka, took his place in front of the casket. She glanced nervously in that direction before saying, “Did Dad tell you? I talked to Sandy the day before … the day … well, she told me how she was starting her own bookkeeping business, y’know?” The girl wiped at her eyes. “And she was so happy because she already had two clients. One had even asked her to be their business manager.” Carolyn sniffled. The organist started to play. Carolyn looked at her father. “Dad, are we starting?”

  “Not yet.” Phil patted her hand. “Not until everyone is seated. Keep talking, honey, I want Chief Ferris to hear this.”

  “Then she said she had a big meeting the next day that might lead to some really good business, and if she got that contract, we were going to take a trip to Hawaii together.”

  “Did she happen to say who that was?” asked Lew.

  “No, she said she didn’t want to say any more because she didn’t want to jinx it.”

  “I’m going to be searching her desk again,” said Lew. “But I didn’t find any datebook or calendar the first time I looked.”

  “Did you check her computer? Sandy had everything computerized,” said Carolyn. “She told me right after she landed her first client that she mail-ordered a new PC that would do everything except wash her dishes. I’ll bet anything you’ll find her schedule in her computer. I know that’s what I do,” said Carolyn.

  She looked at her father, and her face nearly crumpled. “Sandy was so happy going out on her own. She said even if it cost her a ton of money right now, she would make it back fast. She had it all figured out….” Carolyn slid into a soft sobbing. Her father pulled her close. “She … she was going to work half-days, so she could fish afternoons.”

  “I didn’t know she fished,” said Lew.

  “Bass,” sobbed Carolyn. “She fished smallmouth bass. They’re good fighters, y’know,” said Carolyn as she sobbed into her father’s lapel. She raised her head and wiped at the tears on her face. “That place where you found her body? That was just a mile from Shepard Lake, where she loved to fish. One of her favorite spots. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Lew. “That’s good to know. And thanks for the suggestion on checking her computer files, too. I’ve been planning to check through those this afternoon. If I have any questions, I’ll call you at your folks'. If you think of anything more that Sandy may have said about her client meeting the next day, or anything about her clients, please call. Lucy Olson is usually on the switchboard, and she always knows how to reach me, Carolyn.”

  Lew laid her hand briefly on Carolyn’s sleeve; then she and Osborne entered the church, selecting a pew toward the back. Bells chimed, and the pallbearers started down the aisle alongside the bier on which rested the closed casket.

  Behind them walked the family. Carolyn and another sister, Julie, brought up the rear of the procession, one carrying a fishing rod, the other a tackle box. They walked past the bier, through the gate to the altar, and up the carpeted stairs to lay Sandy’s beloved fishing gear in front of a spray of flowers. Then they stepped back to take their places in the family pew. As the organist’s requiem filled the church, everyone stood.

  Osborne was acutely aware of the woman standing to his right. Lew had chosen a simple, long-sleeved black blouse with a round neckline that tucked into a straight black linen skirt. A black leather belt emphasized her waist and flat stomach. She looked trim and tailored, her skin glowing against the black.

  She glanced up, catching his gaze as they knelt for the Offertory. Her eyes were soft and calm. He had attended Mass at Saint Mary’s for over thirty years and seldom had he felt so at home and at peace as he did right now.

  twenty-six

  “I still don’t know why I fish or why other men fish, except that we like it and it makes us think and feel.”

  Roderick L. Haig-Brown

  Yanking the yellow police tape from the door, Lew opened the door to Sandy Herre’s apartment. Osborne followed her in. With a twist of a rod, she flipped open the metallic shades covering a wide front window. The room was stuffy, a faint doggy smell lingering in the air. The three o’clock sun streaming in didn’t help, either.

  Lew pulled out the chair in front of the desk on which rested Sandy’s computer. Just as she went to sit down, the phone rang, startling both of them. Lew picked up the receiver. It was Lucy.

  “Oh!” Lew sounded surprised. “Well … good. Send them over to the conference room where Gina is working. No, wait. Have them check in with Human Resources over in the courthouse first, Lucy. Call ahead, ask HR to have them fill out applications for temporary positions. If there’s any problem, let them know I need those two on board to assist with an urgent computer investigation. Got it? Thanks, Lucy.”

  She looked at Osborne as she hung up. “Apparently something came up out at the game preserve, and Hank didn’t show to put the boys to work. They stopped by to get started with the ATF database … oh, and I got our saliva samples off to the lab in Madison.” She gave Doc a significant look.

  “How long until we know?” he said.

  “Um … late tomorrow, I requested a ‘rush'.” Lew gave a quick glance around the apartment. “Doc, I’ve gone through her desk, the bedroom, the bathroom, everything on the counters, in the drawers, and in her storage unit. I saved the computer for last.”

  Sitting down, Lew turned on the computer. The machine hummed as a colorful pattern filled the screen.

  “Drats,” said Lew. “I was afraid this would happen. I don’t recognize these icons. I’m not like Gina; I don’t know much beyond the word processing we use on our system. I can fool around here, but I don’t want to screw anything up. Dammit.”

  “Any reason not to call Gina?” said Osborne. “We’re only five minutes from your office. It’ll be at least an hour before the boys can get to work, won’t it?”

  “That is not a bad idea,” said Lew with relief as she picked up the phone.

  Ten minutes later, Gina barreled into the room like a petite torpedo: small, dark, and dedicated to a target. Shoving a computer printout at Lew, she said, “Right after your call, I got a fax of Ashley’s cell phone records for the last two weeks. All calls, except one, were made to people in Kansas City. The one local call—to a Loon Lake number—was made at three o’clock Monday afternoon. To Ralph’s Sporting Goods. A ten-minute call, too.

  “Now why would she do that?” Gina asked Lew and Osborne. Before they could say a word, she answered her own question. “I’ll tell you why. The record shows she punched star-sixty-nine just before placing the call. Someone must have called her, and she was trying to find out where they had called from—”

  “Huh,” said Lew. “Looks like I better see Ralph when I’m finished here. But first things first. I have to let the family in here later this afternoon.”


  “Excuse me,” said Osborne, “what’s this star-sixty-nine you’re talking about?”

  “Doc, if you ever get decent phone service at your place, you will be amazed at the services you can get,” said Lew. “The world has passed you by. Star-sixty-nine allows you to check the last call made to your line, even if you don’t answer.”

  “I’ve got another piece of news for you, too,” said Gina, seating herself in the chair just vacated by Lew. “But I can see from the look on your face you’ve got an agenda. This can wait.”

  “No, no, please, tell me now,” said Lew.

  “You’ll never guess who one of your major gun buyers is, according to the ATF data that I’ve input so far.” Gina’s fingers moved swiftly across Sandy Herre’s keyboard. She looked hard at the screen, then she sat back.

  “I can think of a dozen people,” said Lew.

  “Carl Frahm.”

  “You mean Joel, don’t you?” countered Lew. “The father.”

  “No. I mean young Frahm—Zenner. He’s purchased seventeen guns over the last six months, and that’s in just one county. Shotguns mainly, a couple rifles. He’s been buying at estate auctions. And I think it is very interesting that the records from those auctions date back only six months, which, I guess, is when your gun control laws changed. Roger told me the auctions did not have to register gun buyers before then, which means …” Gina’s eyes scanned the screen in front of her.

  “Which means who knows how many he’s bought,” Osborne filled in the blank.

  “Now you see why gun registration is a hot topic in the Northwoods,” said Lew. “Roger is right. Estate sales and gun shows have, until recently, always been places where anyone could purchase guns easily. No one likes the change, and that’s why I have compliance problems.”

  “I have another question,” said Osborne. “Where does a kid get that kind of money? Seventeen guns? You’re talking thousands of dollars.”

  “Not only that, since when does a teenage boy need an arsenal?” asked Gina.

  “Well, now wa-a-it a minute. We have a lot of gun collectors up here, Gina,” said Osborne, surprising himself with a sudden urge to defend the youngster.

  “At that age? You buy that many guns?” Gina shook her head. “I don’t know, Doc. You make a good point about the money involved. When I showed the records to Roger, he noticed that several of the shotguns were quite expensive. The high-powered rifles weren’t cheap either.”

  “Anything else before we get into this?” said Lew, clearly frustrated. “I’m running out of time here.”

  “No, no. Ready to roll,” said Gina, studying the screen in front of her. She was quiet for a few moments, then she spoke. “This is a brand-new system, all right…. I see only four folders aside from all the software icons.

  “File One—that’s my number Chief—she has them marked by name. File One is for AVCO Plumbing and Heating…. Let’s open that little puppy…. Okay, according to an activity report that she has in here, she met with them a week ago and … was working on a proposal to do their estimated and year-end taxes.

  “File Two is for the Wildwood Game Preserve…. Again, a handy little activity report … They want her as a business manager to keep computerized records of their purchasing, sales, and track the investment portfolio.”

  “That would be Hank Kendrickson,” said Lew.

  “Oh,” said Gina, “according to her notes, he has offered to pay her with stock options rather than a fee. Hey, that’s interesting, huh?”

  “He’s giving her equity in his company?” said Lew. “That seems awfully generous.”

  “Hank Kendrickson is always generous when it comes to ladies,” said Osborne.

  “Come on, Doc.” Lew punched him in the arm. “Give the guy a break.”

  Gina dropped her hands from the keyboard suddenly and turned to Lew. “You know what bothered me about that guy? I finally put my finger on it. He doesn’t look at you when he talks to you. Is that just me or have you noticed it, too?”

  “You’re right,” said Lew. “He refuses to hold your gaze. He’s attentive. He listens, but in an odd way, he doesn’t connect. I thought it was me. Like I intimidated him or made him nervous. So you noticed it, too. Huh. Maybe he has a problem with women.”

  “My opinion? It’s a dominance thing,” said Gina. “Happens to me a lot during confrontation interviews. The person who wants to control the conversation is the least likely to make eye contact. I hate people who do that. I don’t hire them, I don’t date them. If you want to be around me, you better look me in the eye.”

  She swung her chair to look at Osborne. “Do men notice things like that?”

  “Don’t ask me,” said Osborne. “I don’t spend a lot of time looking into other men’s eyes—I particularly avoid Hank Kendrickson.”

  “Doc judges people by their teeth,” said Lew with a chuckle.

  “C’mon, Lew.” Osborne felt silly. She was absolutely right, of course. That was something else he didn’t like about Hank; his teeth didn’t fit, something in the outline of his molars. Every time the man smiled that supercilious smile of his, Osborne was aware of a lack of symmetry. You’d think a man who could spend so much money on cars and boats could at least buy himself a mouth that didn’t look like it belonged to someone else, for God’s sake. It was a mean-spirited observation, Osborne knew, and one he had no plans to share.

  “I’ve noticed Doc hasn’t much use for Mr. Kendrickson,” said Gina with a big grin. The two women shared a look. Osborne felt foolish.

  “Okay, okay, enough about Hank,” said Lew. “Let’s get back to business here.”

  “Oho,” said Gina, straightening up in her chair, “this third file is new and different.”

  “Why?” Lew leaned over to peer at the screen

  “It’s not labeled, for one thing … that’s odd … but then again, maybe that’s because this is boilerplate….” Gina scrolled down and down and down. “Boilerplate for money transfers to a bank in Canada with instructions to move percentages on consecutive days to an account in the Cayman Islands.”

  She sat back to look up at Lew and Osborne. “In my line of work we call this money laundering. Couldn’t be more obvious.”

  “Was Sandy doing that for someone?” asked Lew.

  Gina scrutinized the screen. “Not from this computer—there are no figures entered. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen from another location. Let’s see….” Gina looked around the desk. “She’s got a floppy sitting in her zip drive. Let’s take a look.”

  Gina pushed the floppy into the drive and waited. “It’s identical to the third file on the hard drive. All she did was copy the boilerplate off the disk.” Gina ejected the disk and scrutinized it. “No label, darn. I thought we might at least see some handwriting.”

  Then she pushed back her chair and crossed her arms. “You want to find whoever gave her that floppy disk. Money transfers out of the country are not standard bookkeeping procedure.”

  “I should get it fingerprinted.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt, although you’ll have me and Sandy Herre all over it.”

  Osborne stood behind the two women. The room was airing out slightly, thanks to a window Lew had opened earlier. “Would she have gotten it from one of these other clients?” he asked.

  “Except that the way she has things organized, I would expect her to have it in one of their files if that were the case,” said Gina. “But it’s certainly a possibility.

  “If you’d like, Chief, I have a very good source in Kansas City who is on the legal team for the NASD. With your permission, I would like to run this scenario by her and see if they have a watch on anything in this part of the country. They cover the entire Midwest so they may know something.”

  “NASD?”

  “National Association of Securities Dealers.”

  “Why … how do securities figure into this?”

  “Before his move to Kansas City, Michael Winston got nailed for penny stoc
k fraud. My source, who is familiar with that case, said they got on to him through his money transfers to banks in the Caymans. I suspect that’s what he did with the money from Ashley’s company, too. Now, this route through Canada is different, but for me to see money going to a bank in the Caymans … I’m sure it’s a long shot, but it rings too many bells not to check it out.”

  “Okay by me,” said Lew. “Even if it’s not Winston, I’d like to know who in Loon Lake is that financially sophisticated.”

  “No activity report in that third file?” said Osborne.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Go back to the second file. Does it show when Sandy met with the game preserve?” asked Osborne.

  “Let me check…. yes, three meetings, at their offices,” said Gina, “with the last one scheduled for a week ago today. Ready for the fourth file?”

  Lew nodded, checking her watch.

  “Okay … she’s doing the monthly books for Ralph’s Sporting Goods. And some consulting … they want her to set up a new program to track inventory, sales, taxes, etc., and train the in-house person. The activity report looks real straightforward to me.”

  “Anything else on the desktop?” asked Lew.

  “Her daily calendar …” Gina’s fingers danced. “All right.” She sat back and surveyed a list in front of her. “Sandy budgeted time at seven a.m. Monday and Wednesday mornings to update her activity reports. If she died Monday afternoon, that would explain why the details of her appointments and phone calls made after Monday morning were not entered. Otherwise, she had scheduled meetings next week with AVCO and with Wildwood.”

  “That helps explain this,” said Lew, reaching for a manila folder, which stood upright in a stand beside the computer. “She has notes in here dated up to last Monday.”

  “Really,” said Gina. Lew opened the folder. Three small squares of paper, obviously torn from the same note pad that rested beside the desk telephone, were neatly tucked one behind the other. Lew studied each.

  “It looks to me like she took messages off her answering machine and was planning to call these people back,” said Lew. “Two calls from Wildwood, one from Ralph’s.”