Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  “Did Adamo or anyone assess what’s missing?” asked Sue.

  “There was a second doc here when I arrived. She said only the med room was hit, and she told me that they never have any narcotics here. She pointed out that they have signs on both doors stating just that.”

  “Guess they better put some signs on the roof too,” quipped Sue.

  “Let’s seal off the building and give Sue time to work,” said Ray. “I’ll explain to the good doctor what we’re doing and give him some time estimates.”

  37.

  “What did you find?” asked Ray, as Sue piloted the Jeep away from the village.

  “Not much,” she responded. “I’ve got some pretty good prints that are probably from the perp, and I’ve got some good photos of some footprints from the roof and interior. Looks like the guy was wearing tennis shoes.”

  “How much damage on the roof?”

  “Not much,” said Sue. “The perp knew what he was doing. He popped a vent cover, cut open some ductwork, came down through the suspended ceiling. I think we’re looking for someone driving a pickup truck with a ladder rack, someone in the building trades who knows the layout of this building.” Sue waited at the stop sign for several cars to pass, then turned left. “Did you talk to the doc, what’s his name, Adams?”

  “Adamo, Robert Adamo. And yes, after things were sort of squared away, we walked over to the tavern and had some coffee.”

  “So what’s the deal with their security system? It didn’t look like it had been activated.”

  “That’s one of the first things I asked him.”

  “And?” Sue finally asked, impatiently.

  “Adamo said that it was a continuous hassle. People were forgetting to set it or disarm it, and since they had never had a break-in, it was easier not to use it.”

  Sue paused, briefly, “What else did you learn from Adamo?”

  “He’s one unhappy, frustrated guy.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s upset about a whole litany of things. I should get combat pay, or at least the hourly rate of a good shrink for having to listen to him.”

  “Give me the gist.”

  “First, he can’t stand winter any longer…”

  “None of the rest of us can either,” interrupted Sue. “Give me something original.”

  “Well, he thought he would like family practice, and he doesn’t. Says his patients aren’t very interesting. He said some stupid idealism kept him from pursuing a more remunerative specialty. And then he doesn’t like his partner.”

  “I saw the name on the shingle, Shelley something, started with an M. What’s wrong with Shelley?”

  “Adamo says that she has a habit of not charging patients if they don’t have any money. He says word is getting around and all the uninsured deadbeats in the county are filling their waiting room.”

  “Her only flaw?” asked Sue.

  “One of many, actually. He’s installed software that provides data that would help them increase the profitability of the practice. And apparently Shelley doesn’t cooperate. Alas, I don’t think this relationship can be saved.”

  “Anything else?” asked Sue, her eyes fixed on the road.

  “Well, finally there was a rant against society in general. Something to the effect that only the best and brightest go to medical school, and if society doesn’t pay them what they deserve, the best and brightest will do something else, and medicine will become a third-rate profession.”

  “That’s pretty heavy,” said Sue. “Did he mention anything about getting religion? Maybe something about getting God on the side of the best and brightest and being compensated accordingly.”

  “Well, not exactly,” answered Ray, “He launched into this diatribe about how many of the illnesses they were treating were self-inflicted, and then he made the leap to The Church for the Next Millennium and how religion, or shall I say, this religion would help people improve their lives. Then he switched to a serious proselytizing mode, which gave me an opportunity to ask about the church, Rod Gunne, and Adamo’s relationship with Gunne.”

  “You are so good. I can just see you in action, sitting there quietly, occasionally asking a question. So what did you learn?” probed Sue.

  “Rod Gunne is a patient, and he got Adamo to come to church, and it’s the first time he’s ever found a faith that he could relate to. I told him we had visited the church, and we were very impressed. I talked about the wonderful artwork and then segued to the tragic death of Brenda Manton.”

  “Anything?”

  “Not that I could put my finger on. But there was a definite change in the tone of the conversation. He made some clichéd response to what a tragedy her death was and then did his best to change the subject. After that point, he only wanted to talk about when we would find and apprehend the person who caused them to lose a half day’s work. What do you think?” Ray asked.

  “I think I should have joined you. They have great burgers at that tavern, and they make these killer sweet potato fries. And you’d like their surf and turf.”

  “What?”

  “Just your style, Ray, a big helping of fried smelt, a half-pound burger, and fries on the side.”

  Ray exhaled loudly. “Maybe some of Adamo’s depression is justified,” he said.

  38.

  “Where are you?” asked Sue as she read a preliminary copy of Richard Kinver’s autopsy report.

  “Down at the bottom,” said Ray, “Cause of Death and Manner of Death.”

  “So it was a bullet wound,” said Sue. “With all the damage from the fire that wasn’t apparent.”

  “And Richard Kinver was dead before he was torched—that eliminates the possibility of suicide. And he could’ve easily been killed somewhere else, driven to that road end, and then the truck was torched.”

  “I wonder why?” asked Sue.

  “Another mystery,” said Ray. “Maybe the perp wanted to get the truck to a place where it could be torched with little or no chance of being discovered before the fire had done its work.”

  “Well, it looks like the same perp. Using fire to erase evidence seems to be his MO,” observed Sue.

  “Now we have to work on motive. Let’s hope we can come up with better possibilities than we were able to with Brenda Manton.”

  “Lots of possibilities,” said Sue. “The husbands or lovers of his various women, things connected with his shaky finances.” Sue paused and looked up at Ray, her face suddenly lighting with mirth. “Try this out. Kinver stops by to see one of his ladies and after he gets his jollies, he drops off a load of wet, green firewood.”

  Ray shook his head. “Well, wouldn’t you be ticked if you got a bad load of firewood? Probably not a good exchange.”

  He moved to the whiteboard and began making a list. He looked over at Sue and said, “These are the things that we have to attend to immediately. Maybe you can get Brett Carty to help with the legwork. Mike McFarland told us he didn’t know of any relative living in the area. I’d like to verify that before we do a press release and news conference. If there are cousins downstate, let’s see if we can find them and let them know.”

  “This will be big news, Kinver was well-known in the county. And we should probably get this out before the evening news cycle.” Ray listed notification and news conference on the board. Then he added, cell phone records. “Chances are that someone lured him out in the middle of the night. His cell phone records might tell us who did the calling.”

  “You know, Ray, if Kinver was wandering around in the middle of the night it would probably be for some woman.”

  “That just crossed my mind,” he responded.

  “In this case and the Manton murder we’ve always assumed that the perp was a man,” said Sue. “What if?”

  “The Manton assault just looks like something a man would do. Think about the violence and force.”

  “Yes, and somehow these two murders appear connected and maybe they are, but with two di
fferent murderers? How about Kinver killing Manton and then a woman killing Kinver?’ Sue asked.

  “Interesting possibility. Then there’s the issue of Kinver’s big Oshkosh plow. We sort of accepted the story that it was stolen.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sue. “It just made no sense for him to be driving it. It was a vehicle easily identified as belonging to him, and why wouldn’t he just use his own pickup for transportation? Plus, he had this alibi. We’ve never pursued the truck issue.”

  “So why would anyone have used the Oshkosh?” Ray probed.

  After a long pause, Sue answered, “Other than the possibility of trying to put Richard Kinver at the scene of the assault, I can’t think of anything else. And it did prove pretty useful in taking care of a couple of nosey police officers.”

  “Almost more than just taking care of,” Ray added.

  “The use of the truck is just bizarre. It makes no rational sense. Let’s say Richard had nothing else to drive, he might use the Oshkosh, but we know that’s not the case.”

  “And both the Oshkosh and the truck were burned in isolated spots, at road ends, in the middle of the night so any evidence that they might contain would be destroyed. And then the perp disappears. There are trails running off into the woods. So what if the person who dumped the vehicle walked back up a trail. And when they get back to the road they’re in a remote location. So how did they get out of there, jog?”

  “So you think maybe two people?” asked Sue. “Makes sense,” she said, not waiting for him to answer. “And then we shift back to motive. We still don’t know that much about Manton and why someone wanted her dead. But that someone had to know her well enough to know about Tristan Laird. And the night of the assault on Brenda they either saw Tristan or knew that there was a great possibility that he was in the area.”

  “But how did they know where to find him? Only…”

  “We led the way,” said Sue. “We made a path for them. All they had to do was follow our tracks.”

  “Who would tail us?” Ray asked.

  “Maybe we weren’t being tailed at all. Maybe they just saw us parked in the road, getting ready to hike to the tree house. They just put two and two together.”

  “But to put two and two together, you’d have to know about the elusive Tristan Laird. And what we know is that Brenda Manton and Molly Birchard are Tristan’s keepers. So to know anything about Tristan, you have to know Molly and Brenda well. We are going to have to nail the reluctant-to-talk Molly down. We’ve been too damn gentle with her. Get her on the phone and get her in here.”

  Sue headed for the door, “I’ll get Brett started, set up the briefing, and call Molly Birchard.”

  Ray returned to the autopsy. This time he read it from top to bottom. He had this sense that he was on the edge of putting it all together, that perhaps the key was somewhere in the report. All he had to do was connect the dots.

  Ray was peering off into space, lost in thought when Sue suddenly reappeared. “Sorry to interrupt you, but Stephanie Janzen—the woman who thinks her parents have gone missing—is here. I’ve just had a word with her, and I think you should talk to her.”

  Ray could tell by Sue’s tone that Janzen had information he needed to hear.

  “Bring her in,” he said.

  A moment later Sue reappeared with Stephanie Janzen. After they had settled at the conference table, Sue said, “Please share with the sheriff what you just told me.”

  “Before I do that, there’s something I want to tell you, Sheriff. After I left here the other day I went to the State Police. I think I did the same thing there that I did here. I told them about my father and demanded that they do something. A very patient desk sergeant explained to me, much as you had done, the parameters for labeling someone a missing person. So, I want to clear the air. I was probably aggressive and obnoxious, and I apologize.

  “But I have to tell you that I just knew that something was wrong. I’ve stayed around town for a few days trying to be on vacation, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this. So yesterday I went back out to the house, not actually to the house, but nearby. My father’s got a big storage barn a couple of miles from his home on some vacant farmland. He keeps all his toys there. He’s got a couple of sports cars, some antique tractors, and his big RV, the Bluebird. It was clear that no one had been in there, deep snow and no tracks. I brought some boots, but they weren’t adequate for the job. Anyway, I hiked in and looked around, peeked in windows and the Bluebird is there, in the storage building. I could see it clearly through the window.”

  Ray looked across the table at Janzen, her large liquid eyes staring into his.

  “Sheriff, I think I understand about missing persons, now. And I’m starting to comprehend how to approach things. I know you can’t go knock down doors and start questioning people because some alienated child returns home for a few days after many years and wants to know why the world has changed. That said, something is wrong. I don’t know if there is anything you can do about it, but something is very wrong.”

  Ray allowed her last sentence to hang while he thought about his response. He noted for the first time how attractive she was, her short hair enhancing her delicate features.

  “Ms. Janzen, I can’t tell you specifically what we will do. Detective Lawrence and I will have to discuss that. But I can tell you that we will start making some inquiries in the next few days and see where that leads us. There is no evidence of any criminal behavior, but I’ll see what we can find. I can’t tell you that we can necessarily solve this puzzle, but within the limits of the law we will do what we can.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. Do you think I should hire a private investigator?”

  “That’s an option you might want to consider at some time. For now, why don’t you give us a few days? How long are you going to be in the area?”

  “By next weekend I should be on my way back.”

  “How about this,” said Ray. “Let’s meet on Friday afternoon and have a talk. Please give Sue the exact location of the storage building. And one more thing, would you stay away from your parents’ home and avoid any contact with Rod Gunne? This is a very sensitive case, and I like to keep things rather low key. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Friday,” said Ray, “about 2:00 in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll be here,” Janzen said. “I can find my way out. Thank you for talking to me.”

  After she was gone, Sue asked, “What are you going to know on Friday that you don’t know today?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I wanted to get her promise that she wouldn’t be lurking about. We have enough complications.”

  “What else?” asked Sue. “I can see something is really bouncing around that head of yours. Do I sense one of your cognitive leaps is bubbling to the surface?”

  “I have this feeling that we’re almost there. We’re just not putting the pieces together.” Ray stopped and changed direction. “One more thing for your list, Sue. Just to be on the safe side, request a report on Kinver’s trailer. I’m going to run out for a bit and see if I can find Dell. He’s probably as much next to kin as anyone Kinver has.”

  “Make sure you’re back in time for the press conference,” cautioned Sue.

  “I will be. Promise.”

  39.

  Ray was rolling fast as he headed south on 22 toward Richard Kinver’s excavation business. He was thinking about two things, how to break the news of Kinver’s death to Dell and how much information to disclose at the news conference.

  He had meant to check Dell’s house first before driving up to the gravel pit, but he had been so lost in thought that he only remembered it just as he was turning into the business. Ray circled the front of the main building and not seeing Dell’s truck, made a sweeping circle and headed back in the direction he’d come.

  A few minutes later he pulled into Dell’s carefully cleared drive. He didn’t see Dell’s pickup truck, a vintage fire-engine red Che
vrolet. He suspected that it was behind the closed garage doors at the rear of the house.

  He walked to the front door. He could hear the television blaring from the interior. He knocked loudly, no answer. He knocked a second time, and when there was no response he pushed the door open and yelled, “Dell, are you here?”

  Dell poked his head around the corner into the living room. “Oh, Ray, I thought I heard something. Come on in. And close the door. I’m not heating the outside.”

  Ray walked through the dark interior of the living room toward the back of the house. Dell was in the kitchen. The volume on the television was still turned way up. Dell was struggling with the remote to get the sound turned down.

  “Sorry about that, Ray. When I’m home alone I don’t bother to put my hearing aids in. So I’ve got to crank up the TV most of the way if I want to hear. Want some coffee?” Dell asked, as he fished his hearing aids out of his shirt pocket, and then put them in his ears.

  “Not for me, thanks,” said Ray. “I’ve got something to tell you, and I need your help with a couple of things.”

  “Something wrong?” asked Dell.

  “It’s about Richard,” said Ray. “It appears that he’s been murdered.”

  Dell’s body went limp, and he sagged into his chair. He said nothing.

  “I am going to have a news conference later this afternoon. I wanted you to know before it was on television.”

  “When did it happen?” asked Dell.

  “Saturday morning. It took us a couple of days to get a positive identification.”

  “I’m not following,” said Dell.

  “Dell, Richard’s body, it had been burned beyond recognition. We had to rely on dental charts for positive identification.”

  Dell pulled himself from his chair. He went over to the wood stove, opened the door, stirred the coals around, and carefully laid in a couple of chunks of split oak. He walked back to the table and sat down across from Ray. “Don’t know what to say. Richard, he wasn’t the best person in the world, not the worst, either. But murder and fire. I don’t see how he ever deserved that.”