Nick nodded, happy with the thought. Every trace of chicken, potato salad, and cookies had disappeared. The crew in the boat seemed all of the same mind: sated, drowsy, and ready to call it a day.
As the boat flew back across the lake, Ray put on the lights and swung to the north. “Anyone in a rush?” he asked. “I have to return this tomorrow, and I’d like to show Doc how good the clearance is on this boat.”
“Fine with me,” said Joel, twisting the cap off a beer. Zenner and Nick giggled at some private joke and settled into bucket seats for the ride. The boat moved soundlessly through the channel at the north end of Loon Lake, then turned into the bog, heading for the brook that marked the entrance to Lost Lake.
“I’m not sure I want to go all the way up there tonight,” said Osborne.
“Hell, no, I just want to go up past the bog,” said Ray. “You know how shallow this gets close to shore.” He was right about clearance. The boat was built to ride well in the shallows. And it handled magnificently.
Ray put the outboard into reverse and started to back out. As he neared the brook, the lights from the boat threw shadows against the massive boulder marking the entrance, shadows that gave it a slightly different appearance from when the harsh light of midday sun flattened ridges and curves.
The boat moved slowly past the landmark as Osborne, fully relaxed in the padded luxury of the Triton’s bucket seat, studied the patterns thrown by the lights. The boat had such exceptional clearance that Ray was able to steer close to the big boulder, so close that it looked less like a solitary rock than the wall of a cliff.
Osborne tensed in his chair. A cliff wall. That rock was the backdrop in the photo of Hank Kendrickson and his trophy brown trout, the trout he had insisted he caught in the Deerskin. He didn’t catch that fish in the Deerskin. He caught it right here, near the entrance to Lost Lake.
Now why would he lie about that?
twenty-eight
“When God created the earth, he made two-thirds of it water and only one-third of it land. It seems only natural that two-thirds of one’s time should be spent fishing.”
Anonymous
Ray was able to maneuver the big boat alongside Osborne’s dock with time to spare before the sun dropped below the horizon. Osborne rose slowly to his feet, moving in the slow motion of the satisfied fisherman to unload his gear. For fifty years, he had moved this way whenever the fishing had been good. Tonight the fishing had been excellent: no fish, but that didn’t matter. It had been a fine time on the water.
Ray, Joel, even Zenner and Nick, moved as languidly as he did, each in the unspoken acknowledgment that shore time was very different from lake time, and no one wanted to let go.
“Hey, Doc?” A man’s voice called down from the top of the flagstone stairway. Osborne peered up at the silhouetted form.
“Yeah,” he answered. The voice sounded familiar. “Is that you, Roger?”
“Yes. Is Ray Pradt down there?”
“As present as I’m ever gonna be,” shouted Ray up the hill. “Hold on, we’ll be right up.” And so the five of them trooped up, rods, tackle boxes, minnow pail, and picnic hamper in hand. Osborne tripped a switch on the dock, and small knee-high lamps came on to light their way up the rock stairway.
Roger waited in silence. He had retreated to the patio outside Osborne’s back door. His cruiser was in the drive, the signal flashing. Osborne’s heart started to pound. Lew! He ran suddenly, letting his tackle box bang against his knees, “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”
“Dead,” said Roger flatly. “Ray, you’re under arrest.”
Everyone stopped moving and stared at Roger.
“Who’s dead?” asked Osborne, afraid to hear the answer.
“We don’t know who they are,” said Roger, “but they were killed at the shooting range. Dwayne Rodd saw you with ‘em, Ray. What the hell happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?” said Ray. “I had a client and her friend out shooting clays. I left ‘em there at four-thirty. Are you saying that my client is dead?”
“I saw her myself,” said Roger. “I called the paramedics and they tried to resuscitate, but they were hammered at short range.”
“Wha—! I had nothing to do with it,” said Ray. “You’re trying to arrest me for murder?”
“Where’s your head, Roger?” said Osborne. “Does Lew know about this?”
“Can’t find her.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find her?”
“I mean I can’t find her. She told Lucy she was taking that woman from Chicago to dinner at the Pub, but the Pub is closed for cleaning tonight. They aren’t there.”
“Jeez, man, there are only four restaurants in Loon Lake. Did you check them out?”
“Yes, I did. No sign of her. Doc, I have a job to do. Can I ask Ray a question?”
“Shoot,” said Ray. Osborne rolled his eyes. This was not a time for jokes; that much was clear from the expression on Roger’s face.
“Did you fire a gun this afternoon?”
“Of course. I was demonstrating, I was teaching. Yes, I fired a gun.” Ray’s voice was soft and deliberate.
“And where is that gun?”
“In my cabinet,” said Osborne. “It’s my side-by-side.”
“I’m sorry, I have to ask you to give me the gun,” said Roger.
“No one is touching that gun until I talk to Lew,” said Osborne. He was so furious, he could feel himself vibrating. “Roger, you stay right there. I’ll call Lucy and have her patch me through. This is ridiculous—you can be sued for false arrest, you know.”
Osborne marched into his kitchen and yanked the kitchen phone off the hook. He dialed the switchboard and got Jennifer instead of Lucy. “Jennifer, please patch me through to Lew right away,” said Osborne.
“We don’t know where she is,” said Jennifer. “Did Roger find Ray?”
“Okay, patch me to Lucy at home.”
“She’s playing bingo somewhere on the res,” said Jennifer. “I left a message with her granddaughter, though. If you see Roger, will you tell him Wausau is sending a tech … should be here in half an hour.”
Osborne slammed down the phone. He went to the gun case and grabbed the Browning. As he passed through the back porch, he picked up the padded case for the gun and slipped the shotgun inside. Then he walked outside. Joel and the two boys stood silently in the driveway. Ray was already seated in the cruiser with Roger. At least he was in the front seat and not handcuffed in the back, noted Osborne with some relief. He walked up to the car. He opened the rear door and laid the gun carefully inside.
“Roger, this gun is very important to me. I trust you will take good care of it, please. My prints are all over it, too. Why don’t you arrest me as well?”
“Doc, I’m sure this will all be cleared up by morning. But you have to see it from my side. Ray was there with a gun, the gun has been fired, two people are dead. I have strict guidelines I have to follow in situations like this. Without Lew, I have to follow those orders. What would you do?”
“For chrissakes, Roger. You know damn well Ray Pradt is not capable of such an act. Now you’ve gone and had him arrested for a crime we all know he didn’t commit … and you’ve done it in front of his son and his good friends.”
“Might as well be in front of all Loon Lake,” added Joel from where he stood in the shadows, his arm across Nick’s shoulders.
Roger shrugged. “Department procedure. I’m sorry, fellas.”
“Doc,” Ray leaned across Roger, “could Nick stay with you tonight?”
“Of course. Don’t you worry about it, Ray. I’m going to give Gary Paulson a call, too. You need a lawyer.”
The magic of the evening was gone. Joel and Zenner loaded their two cars in silence. When the Frahms were ready to leave, Joel lifted one hand in a silent wave. Zenner spoke a few words to Nick, which Osborne couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, the boys seemed to agree on it. Then Nick walked down to Ray’
s trailer to drop off his gear and get a toothbrush.
He wasn’t gone long. When he returned, he had such a stricken look on his face that Osborne decided to break one of his long-standing rules: “Nick, would you like a drink? I have beer, gin, some good bourbon.”
The offer caught Nick off guard. A look of embarrassment crossed with confusion crept over his face, “I thought … Ray said you were recovering—”
“I am,” said Osborne. “But when you’re a recovering alcoholic, you don’t have a horror of alcohol, you have a horror of yourself and alcohol. Alcohol—as all good fishermen know—has its virtues. I shouldn’t offer it to you, I know. You’re a minor. But the way this evening is going, I need some vicarious relief. This is one of those times when the best you can do is pour yourself a drink and think it all over.”
“Oh.” Nick puzzled that one. “Well … what are you gonna have?”
“I would love a gin martini, but I will have a glass of milk.”
“I’ll take the beer—if that’s okay?”
“Good. We deserve it. There’s beer in the refrigerator on the back porch. Choose what you want.”
His drink in one hand, a lawn chair in the other, Osborne led the way down to the dock. He took the rocker and handed the lawn chair to Nick. Seated, they drank in mutual silence, looking up at the stars. No phone rang up in the house, no cars drove down the road. The night was so still, Osborne could hear Nick swallow. The boy finished his beer and excused himself to get ready for bed.
While he was in the bathroom, Osborne changed the sheets in Mallory’s room. Then, after making sure Nick was comfortable, he left another message on Lew’s home phone. Where the hell was she? He called the switchboard for the umpteenth time. Not a word from Lew. Meanwhile, Ray was enjoying the comforts of the new jail, according to Jennifer. She also said that the Wausau tech would say only that a shotgun was definitely the murder weapon. He would not check out Osborne’s gun until morning.
Nick went into the bedroom shortly after eleven. Osborne, anxiety clutching his chest, tried to do the same, but he lay in bed with his eyes wide open. He must have fallen asleep at some point because the phone, when it rang, sounded very far away. He struggled up through sleep to answer groggily.
The clock radio at his bedside indicated it was nearly two in the morning. “Doc?” Lew’s voice was sharp with urgency.
“Where are you?” He leaned on one elbow.
“I’m at the jail. I’ve been here since midnight,” she said. “Ray’s cleared. I’m driving him out to your place in a few minutes. I’ve got your gun, too. Doc, I am so sorry. This would never have happened if I had been here—”
“Where were you? I tried you at home and I tried the switchboard until, jeez, eleven-thirty. Where did you go after we left Ralph’s?”
“Back to Sandy Herre’s to check everything over once more before letting the family in. By the way, Ralph called right after I got back from the store. He knew nothing more than Stein—never saw the box either. But he’s checking with the guys from T.U. for me. He thinks one of them might have handled it because they were helping out in the fly-fishing department.
“I didn’t get out of Sandy’s place until after six. Then Gina and I drove up to the Bear Claw in Land O’Lakes. On the way back, we stopped for a nightcap at the Old Stag. I had no idea no one knew how to reach me. I was sure I told Lucy where we were going and gave her Gina’s cell phone number since we had Gina’s rental car. I didn’t call in until eleven. That’s when I got the news about Ray.”
“Thank God you’re all right, Lew. I’ve been so worried. So what’s the deal? How did you clear Ray?”
“We had a suicide over in Manitowish. The ex-husband of Ray’s client, that woman. Her ex followed her up here, stalked her and the new boyfriend from the airport to the resort, and followed them to the shooting range. He hid in the woods until Ray left.”
“How do you know all this?”
“He left a note.” She gave a heavy sigh. “I should be fired.”
“No, Lew. For heaven’s sake, you have to be able to take time off. Lucy is the problem. She should have told Jennifer where you could be reached, at least given her the phone number.”
“Yeah, well, Lucy should know better, but how often do we have this kind of thing happening? Roger is the one I need to have a come-to-Jesus with. That man, I tell ya, Doc, I gotta move his retirement up. This was absurd tonight.” She dropped her voice. “Ray could file a lawsuit, y’know.”
“You know he wouldn’t do that, Lew. Is he doing okay?”
“Oh, sure, he had all our guests in stitches,” said Lew, a chuckle softening her voice. “They can’t wait for him to come back.”
Osborne hung up, relieved. Ray was cleared, and his gun was on its way home. And he liked the way Lew was beginning to confide in him. All was not lost after all. Smiling ruefully, he cracked open the door to the bedroom where Nick was sleeping and peered in.
The boy was sprawled diagonally across the bed, which was a standard double and way too short for him. The evening had stayed warm even with the windows wide open, and Nick had thrown off the light quilt that Osborne had given him. He was sleeping in his jockey underwear.
Osborne tiptoed into the room and bent to wake him gently. But as he leaned over Nick, a mark on the boy’s shoulder caught his eye. Osborne stared, pulling his hand back in horror. He looked at the other shoulder.
Moonlight spilling in the window etched the outline of human teeth. The bite marks on Nick’s shoulders were identical to the ones Osborne had seen on the two dead women. Not similar, identical. It is impossible to duplicate the five surfaces of a tooth. Even without a microscope he could see enough of the elongated upper right incisor to know it would be a perfect match.
He hauled the boy into the kitchen and slammed him down into a chair, turning the rheostat for the light fixture so high that Nick ducked to cover his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Osborne shouted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy stammered. “What’s wrong?”
“What the hell is this?” Osborne pointed to Nick’s left shoulder.
The boy turned and looked down at himself drowsily.
“Oh, that, that’s nothing.”
Osborne couldn’t say a word for a brief moment. Anger pounded in his ears. He hadn’t been so angry since Mary Lee threw his prized forty-nine-inch mounted muskie in the trash while he was away at a dental convention. He took a deep breath.
“Nick, two women have been murdered this week in Loon Lake. We’ve kept it a secret that both victims had strange tattoos resembling bite marks on their bodies, in the exact same place and identical to the bite marks on your shoulders. Now you tell me—”
“It’s a Zenner thing,” said Nick, the sleep gone and a look of fear in his eyes. “It’s nothing, Dr. Osborne, just, y’know, vampire stuff.”
“No, I don’t know,” said Osborne. “You tell me. What the hell does ‘vampire stuff’ mean? Zenner goes around killing women?”
“Oh, God, no,” cried Nick. “These tattoos? He makes them from casts he gets out of his dad’s office. He makes them for his friends.”
“I still don’t understand.” Osborne pulled a chair out and sat down.
“Up at the high school,” said Nick, taking a deep breath, “just like my school out East, you have all these different groups. Like some kids are jocks, some are preppies and some … well, kids like me, we’re into Goth, see. Some are still into vampires. That’s old, though. Vampires were big last year at my school. But they’re still kind of big around here, I guess. Zenner used to be in that group, and he made up these tattoos for them.
“Anyway …” Nick was calming now that Osborne seemed a little more under control. “When I was out at Wildwood this morning with Zenner, we were fooling around while we waited for Mr. Kendrickson. That’s how I got these. You can’t hurt anyone with ink, Doctor Osborne. Zenner just presses the cast onto an ink pad a
nd then on you. Real easy.”
“I see.” Osborne considered all the ramifications of what Nick said. “I don’t think you should see more of Zenner.”
“Oh, come on, he’s a good guy.”
“I’m not so sure about that. In fact, I’m not sure that kid isn’t one sick cookie.”
A darkness crept into Nick’s eyes. “So what’s wrong with being a vampire? Beats digging graves for a living.”
“If that’s a slam at Ray, you’re way out of line, kid.”
“If I … if I….” Nick jumped to his feet, his eyes fierce. Then something caught and he folded in on himself; crossing his arms he grabbed at his shoulders, shuddering. It took a minute for Osborne to realize the boy was sobbing.
“Oh my God, come on, Nick.” Osborne felt helpless. “We’ll figure it out.”
But the boy lost control, his breath wracking deep in his chest. He sank onto the chair and doubled over. Osborne put a hand on his shoulder gently.
“Hey, son, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so hard.”
“I—I just want … I have to have something real in my life,” Nick sobbed. “I don’t have anything.” He looked up at Osborne, tears pouring down his face. “I thought—the woman I thought was my mother—turns out she isn’t. She’s like all screwed up from the divorce and stuff. I guess Elise is really my mom, but I know she doesn’t really want me. Now Ray, he’s up for murder. All I want is something real in my life—”
“Nick,” said Osborne, his voice firm and urgent, “I woke you up to tell you Ray’s okay. He’s cleared of the charges. They caught the killer.”
The boy looked up at Osborne just as the back door opened and Ray walked in. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a look of amazement on his face at the sight of Osborne and Nick, both in their underwear, both obviously distressed.
Soundlessly, Ray held the Browning out toward Osborne.
Osborne stood up to reach for the gun. “We were just talking,” he said as he walked, gun in hand, to stand behind Nick, who was wiping his face with his hands. Osborne laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It doesn’t get more real than this, kid. Really, it doesn’t.”
Dead Water Page 20
