“Well, it’s probably been awhile.”
“Nora,” he pronounced her name slowly. “How many years?”
“Before Hugh died.”
“How long?”
“Well, you know, he was sick for awhile. A few years, I guess.”
“So, what do you think, maybe fifteen years?”
“Probably less,” Nora answered, her weak smile suggested that it was probably more, and that they both knew it.
“Have you ever fired this?”
“Oh, yes,” she affirmed with great certainty. “Many times, many times. Hugh and I used to go duck hunting.”
“And you used this shotgun?”
“Well, no; I had my own gun, a twenty-gauge.”
Roy closed the breech of the empty gun and handed it back to her. “If you had to fire this antique, what would you do?”
“Easy, I’d cock it, hold it tight to my shoulder, and pull the triggers.”
“Show me how you’d cock it,” he pursued, handing the shotgun back to her.
She held the heavy gun at waist level. Using her thumb, she struggled to pull the hammer back on the right chamber. The left chamber was even more difficult. Finally, she looked up in defeat. “So what?” she asked.
“My concern is… ” He stopped. “Let me rephrase that.” He measured his words carefully. “Nora, this is a very old gun. It’s had a hard life, and it isn’t in the best shape. I’m not sure it would even be safe to fire with modern ammunition. It’s hard to cock, and it will have an enormous recoil. And there’s a good chance that an assailant could grab it away from you. There’s a murderer out there. I would feel much better if you were out of the area for a while.”
“I don’t want to go to Grosse Pointe. Last time I was there Jeannie took me around to several retirement villages. She had this whole speech on how much better it would be for me in one of those places.” She walked to the picture window and looked out at the lake, then turned back toward Ray. “I can’t imagine leaving this place. This is where I want to die.”
Ray looked at her and smiled; he noted the calm determination in her gray eyes. “How about your friend Dottie? You stayed with her for a couple of weeks last year after she came home from the hospital. Can you visit her for a few days? I would feel better if you were down in the village.”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“Just for a while.”
They stood in silence for a long moment. Then, without enthusiasm, Nora said, “I’ll give her a call. She’d probably be happy to have the company.”
“Good. I want this to happen today.”
“Okay. Is there anything else?”
“One thing. In your collection of defensive weapons, didn’t you once show me a big knife you keep on your nightstand?”
“Yes, the bayonet. Hugh brought it back from the war.”
“Can I see it, please?”
“What’s this all about?” asked Nora.
“You’ve told me about it, but I’ve never seen it. So, while I’m inspecting your cache of weapons, I might as well look at that, too.”
Nora disappeared up the stairs toward her bedroom. She returned a few minutes later holding a large knife in a lacquered scabbard. She placed it in Ray’s hands. He pulled the knife from the case and examined the expertly chromed blade with rounded, dull edges. He smiled as he looked back at Nora. “Did Hugh bring this back from the army after WWII?” he asked.
“Yes. I found the knife in his old military footlocker when I was going through things after he died. I liked having it near me at night, especially at first when I was scared of being here alone.”
“Was Hugh in a drill team or a color guard?” he asked.
“Yes, he was, color guard. Remember how tall and handsome Hugh was? He looked just stunning in his uniform.”
Ray handed back the knife, smiling. “Hugh was a wonderful man, Nora.” He looked around. “I have a few minutes before my next meeting. Can I help you get packed?”
11
Ray waited as Nora called her friend Dottie and arranged to stay with her, then he helped her quickly gather her things. Once she and the dogs were loaded and on their way to the village, Ray drove three miles to the trailhead of Otter Lake Pathway, a series of footpaths that ran through thousands of acres of low marshland that included swamps, sinkholes, cedar forests, and one small lake that emptied into Lake Michigan via a long shallow stream. Ray pulled into the leaf-covered asphalt parking lot near the trailhead. He found Deputy Sue Lawrence and Kim Vedder sitting on the back of Sue’s Jeep, pulling on tall rubber boots. After a hurried greeting, he also donned knee boots and a raincoat. The clear blue sky and early morning sunshine had been replaced by dense, leaden clouds blowing down Lake Michigan from the Upper Peninsula. Rain had started to fall again.
“Did you bring a GPS?” Ray asked Sue Lawrence. “It’s here, and I just turned it on,” she responded, motioning toward the zippered pocket on her rain jacket.
They crossed the parking lot and a narrow band of dunes at the edge of the marsh, and then Kim led the way. The trio waded the stream, swelled over its banks by two days of near-continuous showers, and followed a muddy path into the cedar swamp. The rain intensified, bands of water were carried almost horizontally by the howling wind. Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder reverberated around them. The trail turned into a muddy stream as they slogged deeper into the swamp. And then the trail disappeared completely in the rising water.
Kim stopped, brushing loose strands of wet hair away from her face. She looked at the two possible paths through the marsh. “I not sure which way, I’ve only been here once. And with all this water it looks different.”
“We’ll go with your best guess, Kim,” said Ray.
“I just don’t know.”
Ray moved ahead of Kim and studied the terrain. “Let’s go to the right. The terrain looks a bit higher.” He sloshed ahead, finding firmer ground as they entered a thick stand of cedar. “Does this look familiar?” he asked.
“I can remember trees like this, we walked along the edge of a swamp.” She carefully surveyed the area. “If we can find the little lake, his hut will be off to the side.”
They worked their way through the cedar swamp, moving along the small isles of solid ground found at the base of the trees. Eventually they reached the shore of a mud lake, only a few dozen acres in size.
“This is it,” said Kim. “It’s about halfway around. Over there.” She pointed toward a thick stand of second growth pine.
Ray could see little through the fog and rain, but he marched off in that direction. A primitive wood and tarp shelter, thirty yards from the edge of the water near the base of a large pine, came into view. As they approached, Ray could see a metal stovepipe, but no hint of smoke. The frame of the tiny structure was built with small cedar logs. The walls were scraps of rough lumber and driftwood nailed in a haphazard manner to the log frame; the roof was draped with a blue plastic tarp fastened with ropes at the corners. A small wooden door faced the water. Ray pushed the door; it was secured on the inside. He shoved it forcefully, and it fell off its makeshift hinges. He peered into the dark cavity, and then fished for the small flashlight on his belt. In its beam he could see an unmoving body wrapped in a sleeping bag huddled against the back wall. Ray dropped to his knees and crawled through the door to get a better look. Sue crawled in behind him and helped illuminate the scene with her light.
“Is he okay?” Kim asked, looking over them from the outside.
Ray touched the wet clothing. He palpated the cold, clammy skin. He reached for the carotid artery, eventually finding a weak, stringy cadence. He put his light on Arnie’s face; his eyes were open but non-reactive to the light. “Arnie,” he said softly. He said it a second time, giving him a gentle shake. No response.
“Is he all right?” Kim asked the question again, this time more frantic than the first.
“Sue, do you have a large evidence bag?”
&
nbsp; She crawled beside him. His flashlight pointed to a woman’s sandal close to Arnie on the floor. She carefully picked it up with a gloved hand and slid it into the bag, placing a second bag around the first.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he dead, sheriff?” asked Kim— panic in her voice as she peered over Ray’s shoulder.
“Arnie’s suffering from hypothermia. He’s been cold and wet for a long time. We’ve got to get him to the hospital. Kim, move outside for a few minutes while I cover him. Then you can sit with him.” Ray backed out of the hut. “Sue, see if dispatch can get a Coast Guard chopper in here. Tell them we have a victim in stage-three hypothermia.”
Ray took off his raincoat and jacket and climbed back into the shelter. After unwrapping the thin damp sleeping bag from Arnie’s upper torso, Ray covered him with his jacket and coat and laid him back down. Ray studied the 5-by-5-foot interior—the tiny sheet-metal stove in the corner with a plastic garbage bag nearby, a dented aluminum pan hanging on a nail at the side, three soggy People magazines, the wet blue nylon sleeping bag, and a small telescope laying near the stove—its eyepiece extending out from a protective nylon bag, nothing else. Kim crawled next to her son. “You can help him stay warm by holding him close,” he said. Kim lay next to Arnie and pulled him to her body.
Ray found dry kindling and matches in the plastic garbage bag. He started a fire in the stove and backed out of the hut.
“You want a space blanket?” Sue asked after he emerged from the hut.
“Sure,” he responded. Sue dug through her backpack and handed Ray a small packet. He unwrapped the tightly folded package and pulled the thin sheet of silvery plastic around his shoulders. They stood on the shore and waited for the chopper. At the sound of its approach—the thumping of its blades in the heavy air—Sue fired a flare. The projectile arched out over the lake and fell toward the water. Sue glanced back toward the hut to ensure they were out of earshot.
“Is Arnie going to make it?” she shouted over the roar of the approaching chopper.
“It’s a crap shoot,” said Ray.
The pilot turned the bright orange helicopter in their direction. They could see him wave through the Plexiglas bubble. As the pilot carefully oriented his ship, Ray and Sue moved out into the clearing near the shore and waited for the rescue basket to descend.
12
As Ray entered the conference room he could see that Deputy Sue Lawrence had covered one side of the table with neat piles of documents, photos, and diagrams. She also had a small array of items—a sandal, a blue beach towel, the photo of Ashleigh and her mother—in evidence bags. Ray placed a stainless steel coffee mug on the table and sat across from her. “Any word on Vedder?” Sue asked as she sorted some photos.
“I just called. They’re trying to stabilize him, doing blood warming.” Ray sipped his coffee. “It doesn’t sound good.”
“Kim?”
“She’s there. If he doesn’t make it, well.” Ray dropped his head toward the table, rubbed his forehead with his forefingers and thumb; a wave of fatigue swept across his body. Looking up, he continued, “That poor woman, her life has been one tragedy after another. I wonder how she’ll get through this one.”
Sue let his comment hang for a long time, finally saying, “Here is the inventory of clothing for Ashleigh and David. You’ll notice that we only found one sandal, a women’s size eight Chaco for the left foot.”
Ray looked at the list of clothing for each victim, followed by the other items collected at the scene.
“Did you process the shoe we recovered in Arnie’s hut?”
“Yes, it appears to be the mate—right foot, same size and model of Chaco with a similar amount of wear. I can take this further if need be,” said Sue.
“So, assuming that the sandal is a match, we have evidence that Arnie was probably at the crime scene. Warrington told me Ashleigh was someone who had been kind to Arnie and that he was often seen hanging around near her cottage,” Ray paused. “And Kim Vedder talked about Arnie’s fascination with the dunes and beach in that area. He would spend nights there, looking at the stars, sleeping, and not coming home until after dawn.”
“Any chance Arnie is the killer?” Sue’s tone suggested her own doubt.
“Check Arnie’s clothes for traces of blood; I think the perp would have been covered with blood.” Ray stopped briefly and looked directly at Sue, “Can you imagine him overcoming two physically fit adults?”
“He would have had the element of surprise,” she countered.
“True,” answered Ray. “But, think about him pulling Dowd’s head into that position or overpowering Ashleigh. He has the strength of a child, a fairly fragile child at that.”
“Okay,” agreed Sue, “not likely. But maybe he saw something, like the killer.”
“And I think that’s very possible. Here is a scenario. Arnie is up at his perch high on the dunes. He sees Ashleigh and David Dowd coming down the beach. Her long hair is pretty distinctive, and he might have even been using his telescope. According to Nora it was close to dusk when she encountered the couple, so his view would have deteriorated in the fading light. He sees the attack, or he wanders down in the dark and finds them. He might have even come on the scene the next morning.”
“How do you explain the sandal?” asked Sue.
“I don’t know, perhaps he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, just picked something up and ran.” Ray slowed, “Arnie is a fragile kid. Just seeing the bodies would have been enough to put him in a complete panic, and if he saw the attack, well… ” He remained quiet for a few moments as he visualized Arnie at the scene.
“Why wouldn’t he try to get help? That would have been such a natural thing to do.”
“He isn’t normal. His thinking is confused.” Ray looked across at Sue’s neatly organized evidence stacks. He gestured with his hand, “So, what else do you have?”
“Here,” she slid a drawing across the table, “is the diagram of the crime scene. You can see the position of the bodies, clothes, food, and wine bottle. There was a small pocketknife next to the cheese, one of the Swiss army ones with a corkscrew. Not big enough to be the weapon.” She lifted up a plastic bag. “That’s about it. We searched the whole grid in that diagram, even raked through the sand on our second go, just some typical beach debris. Then we used a metal detector—can tabs and bottle tops. The hours of heavy rain didn’t leave much. The photos,” she pushed a stack of 8-by-12-inch glossies in his direction, “are keyed to the numbers on the diagram.”
Ray sat silently and studied the diagram, then he carefully looked at the photos, examining the scene again, taking in all the details, attempting to visualize the murderous rage of the perpetrator. He closed his eyes and put himself on the beach. He could smell the damp shore, hear the lulling waves and the lovers breathing, sense the shared pleasure, and then feel the sudden yank, slash, and pain.
“And here,” Sue, interrupting his musing, slid a second diagram across the table, “I’ve placed the scene against the wider area using a geographical survey map as the basis for this diagram. The purpose was to look for possible routes to and from the scene. The most obvious one, of course, is the beach, but there’s also this trail.” She reached across and traced the path. “It starts here at the parking lot, runs through the woods behind Nora Jennings’s cottage and up along the ridgeline. Then it turns and runs back across the dune and into a two-track that winds back to the highway.” She hesitated. “But I’m probably telling you something you know.”
“This was one of my favorite beaches when I was a kid. I’ve covered that trail hundreds of times.”
“We searched the trail from one end to the other.”
“Find anything?”
“Nothing unusual, just ordinary litter left over from the summer. Food wrappers, pop and beer cans, plastic water bottles, discarded clothing, and a few condoms off to the side.” Sue had a look of mild disgust on her face. “I’d hoped that our perp might have
dropped something, or perhaps we’d even find tire impressions in the protected area in the woods, but nothing. We’ve checked the beach in both directions for about a mile, and sorted through the trash basket in the park. I don’t think there’s much,” Sue paused, a look of frustration covered her face. “If the perp didn’t take the knife with him, it would only take a few minutes to bury it and with miles of beach and dune… ”
“Or,” Ray continued, “he could have thrown the knife out into the waves, or even swam out, past the second bar, and buried it.” He looked at Sue. “So, what’s your theory? How do you think this was done?”
“I think they were either followed or the perp knew where Ashleigh would probably take someone. The killer could have pursued them up the beach, but I think the trail would have been a better bet.”
“But… ”
“Right, the perp would need some knowledge of the area.”
“But probably not too much,” said Ray. “If they parked in the lot, the trail is marked with a map posted at the trailhead. Plus, once you get out beyond the forest you can see for miles from the top of the dunes.”
“Wait. I’m telling the story,” Sue smiled. “I think the perp took the trail. From the top of the dune it’s easy to watch someone coming up the beach. He waited until they were engaged, probably slid down one of those gullies, and then crawled up through the dune grass from the lake. Approaching at that angle he wouldn’t be spotted until the last second.” She pushed over the pile of photos. “Look at the position of the bodies, the assailant would have attacked from this line,” she used her finger as a pointer, “slashed victim one, and then stabbed victim two. Just the way Dr. Dyskin described it.”
“And how about Arnie?”
“He could have been up there too. There’s a lot of real estate. And I doubt if the killer would have been aware of his presence.”
Ray was silent as he considered this scenario. Finally he asked, “Ashleigh’s car?”
“The Volvo was locked. I assume Ashleigh locked it.”
Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour Page 6
