“It’s after eight,” came Marc’s voice again. “Do you want dinner, or do you want to sleep through?”
“I better eat,” responded Ray.
“Do you need help getting up?”
“No, I’m all right. Just give me a few minutes.”
Ray carefully positioned himself, getting his good leg off the side of the bed and onto the floor, followed by the casted leg. After using the toilet, he combed his hair and looked at his worn face in the mirror.
The lines in his face seemed deeper than he remembered, and he was startled by the bags under his eyes. The loss of several pounds over the last week added to his gaunt appearance. Pulling on a fleece robe, he scuffled out on crutches.
Marc and Lisa, seated on the suede-covered couch, wine glasses in hand, rose to greet him. Marc helped Ray get settled in the wheelchair, elevated the left leg, and deftly positioned him at the dinner table.
After filling the wine glass in front of him, Lisa commented, “You can have a full glass tonight, I don’t think you’re going to get called out.”
Without saying a word, Ray pulled a pill bottle from the pocket of his robe and pointed to a sticker on the side of the bottle. Lisa took the bottle from his hand, looked at the sticker, and handed it back.
“Anyone who continues to put himself in harm’s way the way you do, can take a chance on mixing chemicals,” she said in a tone that was devoid of her usually playful mocking. “But I promise that we will not allow you to operate machinery or drive.”
Lisa watched Ray sample the wine, usually a precise ritual of swirling, looking at the color, sniffing the bouquet several times, and taking a small sip. Ray lifted the glass and took several large swallows; he paused a few seconds and drained the glass, setting it back on the table.
Without commenting, Lisa filled the glass a second time. She drifted back to the counter and uncorked a second bottle.
“I thought you probably needed comfort food, Ray. I made lamb stew, with new potatoes, and baby carrots,” Marc explained as he worked at the stove.
“And a salad, a fresh baguette, and a very special dessert,” continued Lisa.
Ray, halfway through his second glass of wine, paused. “I’m lucky to have such good friends.”
Marc served the lamb in large steaming bowls, Lisa refilled the wine glasses, and they quietly settled into the meal. Conversation was unusually subdued.
After the bowls had been cleared away, Marc set a board with a collection of English artisan cheeses on the table with a basket of assorted biscuits. Lisa removed the wine glasses and poured a tawny port into some clean glasses, setting the carafe on the table. Ray lifted the carafe and examined the richly colored liquid. Then he carefully looked at the cheeses. “A Colson Bassett Stilton, a farmhouse cheddar, and some Lancashire. Did someone make a special run to Ann Arbor?”
“Marc called Zingerman’s yesterday, said it was a life or death emergency, and the package arrived FedEx this morning just before noon.”
“And the port?” Ray asked.
“That’s a bottle Marc has been saving for a special occasion.”
“We’re celebrating the survival of a dear friend,” said Marc, without commenting on the somber mood in which they seemed to find themselves.
During the long silence that followed, they helped themselves to cheese and biscuits.
Finally Ray said, “This port is extraordinary. And the cheese, the stew, everything is wonderful. Thank you.” He sipped the port and set it back on the table. “There’s something I need to talk about.”
Marc and Lisa waited in silence.
“And I don’t know where to begin. I won’t insult you by saying it needs to stay here, because I know you will never talk about what I’m going to tell you. But this is extremely painful to talk about.”
“Do what you’re comfortable with,” said Marc.
“The dead woman, Ashleigh Allen.” Ray stopped and reached for the copy of Ulysses at the end of the table. He opened the book and took the faded photo out and handed it across to Lisa. She studied it closely and passed it to Marc.
“That’s Allison Ashton, Ashleigh’s mother,” explained Ray.
“With Empire Bluff in the background. Where did you get the photo?” asked Lisa.
“I took it,” he said. “I had an old Leica that Marc’s grandfather gave me when I went into the Army.”
Ray carefully detailed his brief relationship with Ashleigh’s mother, Allison. He also mentioned that during the early stages of the murder investigation he learned that Ashleigh’s mother had died of cancer at a young age. After he finished, he passed copies of Ashleigh’s birth certificate and a calendar so Marc and Lisa could do the math. With the calendar between them, they worked backward from the birth date.
A long silence followed. Marc drained his port and refilled his glass. “But you never heard from her again?” asked Lisa.
“Only this note,” answered Ray, “that I got shortly after she left.” He handed it to Lisa. She inspected the envelope and postmark and scanned the short letter. Marc also examined them.
Neither was quick to respond.
“And you don’t think there is any other way you can interpret this data?” asked Marc.
“Can you?” Ray responded.
“Probably not,” said Lisa, looking empathetically at Ray. “What are you feeling,” she asked, wiping a tear with her right hand.
Ray looked up to the ceiling and tried to find the words for the feelings he’d kept behind a wall of denial and disbelief. “Loss, confusion, enormous sadness,” he responded. “I’m trying to understand what I’m feeling. I continue to ask questions for which there are no answers. Why didn’t I pursue her? Why didn’t she contact me? I have so many thoughts running through my brain; I have difficulty sorting them out.”
“But you would have been back in Europe by the time she discovered she was pregnant,” said Lisa.
“Probably, but she could have found me. I wasn’t incommunicado. I was very taken with her, I would have adjusted my life to this situation.”
He paused for a long moment. “She didn’t want me as part of her life or part of her child’s life.”
“You don’t know that Ray,” said Lisa. “When you met her you weren’t involved with anyone else?”
“No.”
“But you don’t know about her, do you?” she pursued.
“No.”
“What if she was?”
“Are you suggesting that she might have been pregnant?”
“It’s a possibility,” Lisa responded. “Suppose she was involved with someone at the time she met you. And then she has a brief summer romance with you. She goes back to California and reconnects with her love interest. Soon after she finds out that she’s pregnant. She might have become impregnated before she left California or soon after she returned. There weren’t DNA tests back then.”
“No,” responded Ray. “On the birth certificate Ashleigh has her mother’s family name, there is no father listed.”
“Where did the Allen come from?” asked Marc.
“Ashleigh’s stepfather. They were married shortly after Ashleigh’s birth and divorced about a year later. We could find no record that he formally adopted her.”
“What do you know about him?” asked Lisa.
“Little more than rumors. He was supposedly one of Allison’s graduate professors.”
“Well,” said Lisa, “I don’t want to go through all of our sexual histories, but wouldn’t it have been possible when you or I or Marc were in our early twenties and our hormones were maxed to be involved with someone, and then go off on a trip and meet another person? And if the moon were right and the wine was good, after some time getting to know this new person… ”
“Yes,” Ray agreed, “but why wouldn’t she contact me?”
“That’s unanswerable. And if she had another lover, she might not have known who the father was. You’re extremely responsible and caring. You wo
uld have done the right thing, whatever that might have been. If she is your daughter, it’s a pity you didn’t know her, and it’s equally sad that she didn’t know you.”
Lisa paused and looked over at Ray. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Probably on the surface I look okay. I’m able to keep going.”
“But below the surface?” pressed Lisa.
“I want to scream, cry. Sometimes I want to break something or get drunk. I want to find her killer. I want vengeance.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Lisa.
“What do I do now?” Ray asked
“You might want to start with DNA,” observed Marc.
“I’ve done that. I’ll know in ten to fourteen business days.”
48
Ray was awakened by the smell of coffee brewing. He could see light under the bedroom door, a door that had been standing open after Marc helped him to bed. He looked at his wristwatch; it was a few minutes before 10:00 a.m. As the world slowly came into focus, he became aware of a throbbing headache. Hangover, he thought. He could not remember the last time he had had a hangover, but the symptoms were clear. A gentle knock was followed by the door opening a few inches. “Ray,” came Sue’s voice.
“I’m awake,” he responded. “What’s happening?”
“I found Helen,” said Sue with great excitement, moving into the room.
“Found who?”
“Helen Warrington,” answered Sue. “And guess who she’s keeping company with?”
“Who?” Ray grumped.
“Denton Freeler.”
“What? Help me get up,” he commanded, followed by a slightly contrite, “please.”
Sue helped get Ray onto his crutches.
She was pouring coffee when he emerged from the bathroom. He hobbled to the counter.
“You okay?” she said. “You look kinda rough.”
“Hard night,” he responded without elaborating. “Helen Warrington, Denton Freeler. What’s going on?”
“Lots,” said Sue, opening a folder with her neatly typed notes. “I went back to the office last night and entered the info on Helen Warrington into the National Crime Information Center. And as I was doing the paperwork for the APB, it suddenly hit me. I had one of those—your favorite term—cognitive leaps.”
“What?” said Ray, still in a bit of a fog.
“Remember we had the names of two kids who were possible suspects in vandalizing Ashleigh’s kayak?”
“Yes. One of the kids is in Europe studying and the other is dead,” responded Ray.
“That’s right. We didn’t pursue that any further.”
“So, you think the kid came back from Europe? What’s his name?”
“Jay Hanson, and no, he didn’t come back from Europe. Although the thought crossed my mind. It would be easy enough, eight hours to Detroit Metro, an hour to Traverse City, back to Italy the next day. But no, it’s the other boy, Denton Freeler. We never went any further with him because we were told he was dead.”
Sue paused and looked at Ray. “And where did the information about his death come from?” she asked.
“Leiston’s alumni office—Helen Warrington,” muttered Ray.
“Exactly. I called your friend Sarah James at home. I asked if I could stop by and talk to her. And when I got there I asked if she would allow me to look through Denton Freeler’s records. We walked over to the office; fortunately Warrington wasn’t about. She took me into a secure area where they store student records. We found his class year. And guess what?”
“What?” responded Ray.
“Freeler’s name and social security number were on the folder, but it was completely empty. I asked Sarah if there was a policy of removing the records of deceased students. There isn’t.”
“Interesting. You’re still not quite sure of Sarah, are you?”
“I was just being cautious; I think she’s okay. When I got back to the office I did some quick checking. Someone named Denton Freeler has a Michigan driver’s license, and there’s a light green Jeep Wrangler Sahara registered in his name. The social security number matches.”
“Anything else?” Ray asked.
“Yes, he has a permit to carry.”
“Wonderful, all the nuts want handguns. Address?”
“An apartment in Royal Oak,” she responded. “So, going back to Jay Hanson… ”
“I thought you dismissed him,” observed Ray.
“I did. You know I talked to his mother on the phone, and she was very helpful and happy to tell me about Jay. She also told me that Ms. Allen had been a major influence in her son’s life. Late yesterday afternoon, I called her back and told her I wanted to talk to Jay, that something had happened his senior year that might have some relevance to the investigation. She became a bit wary and was much less effusive, but after some gentle persuasion, she gave me his cell number. I called him immediately. I think I awakened him— time difference. He told me some amazing stuff.”
“Like?” Ray asked, fully awake and focused on Sue.
“Like he and Denton were roommates. Hanson said Denton was a big, tough kid with a violent streak and that he was afraid of him. He also said Denton had a major drinking problem, and his family had somehow gotten him into Leiston after he got into big time trouble with the police in Birmingham. And here’s the capper,” she paused.
“Yes,” said Ray.
“He was under a court order to go to AA meetings twice a week, and the school psychologist, Helen Warrington, accompanied him.”
“Oh my God,” responded Ray.
“And there’s more. Freeler bragged to Jay that they only went to AA meetings for a couple of months. But by late fall they were going over to Denton’s family cottage, smoking dope, drinking, and having sex. Hanson said Freeler was always bragging about how older women were hot for him. He also said that Freeler was obsessed with Ashleigh Allen, boasting while he was in school that he would ‘bag’ her before they graduated.”
“Did you ask him about the kayak trip?” Ray asked.
“I was just getting to that,” said Sue. “Remember the sleeping bag incident, the Billy Wylder hypothermia thing?”
“Yes.”
“Hanson told me that evening, after they had set up camp and made dinner, he and Freeler went off and got stoned. As they were wandering back, they saw Ashleigh on the beach shampooing her hair. Freeler told him to go back to the camp, this might be his best chance to make it with Ashleigh. Hanson said he went back to the tent he was sharing with Freeler and fell asleep. Freeler awakened him some time later. Hanson said Freeler was furious and said that he was going to get even with the dirty bitch. Hanson remembers Freeler leaving again before he fell back to sleep. The next morning, when the students went back to the beach to start packing their kayaks, they discovered that Ashleigh’s boat had been damaged. Hanson was sure that Freeler had punched the holes in Ashleigh’s kayak with a commando knife he brought on the trip.”
“Did he know why?” Ray probed.
“No. He said he asked what happened, but Freeler wouldn’t tell him. Hanson speculated that Freeler tried to hit on Ashleigh and got turned down. He added that if Freeler tried to get physical with her, Ashleigh would have easily handled him. ”
“Anything else?”
“No,” said Sue. “That’s about all. Hanson told me he loved Leiston School, and he couldn’t imagine that Ms. Allen had been murdered. And he said that rooming with Denton Freeler had ruined his senior year; that Freeler was one sick kid.”
“Did Hanson know the location of Freeler’s cottage?”
“He had been there and gave me the general location. Turns out it belongs to Freeler’s paternal grandfather. With the information he gave me, I was able to get the township assessor to come in very early this morning to pull an address off the tax records.
“We’ve staked out the property, and our friends from the Coast Guard did a slow pass this morning. They go over that area almost every
day on routine training flights, so it shouldn’t have aroused suspicion. There are two vehicles next to the house, a Jeep Wrangler and a Toyota that looks a lot like the one the Warringtons own.”
“Where is this place?” Ray asked, now fully awake.
“Near the county line, in the southwest corner, nestled between federal land and a state forest. It’s almost a full section. Access into the property is via a two-track that crosses state land. It’s not much more than a sand trail.”
“Only one way in?” asked Ray.
Sue unfolded a map and spread it on the counter in front of him. “One two-track,” she said pointing to a tiny line, “and a couple of old fire lanes.” She traced these with a finger. “But I don’t know how far you can get a vehicle down them. We met this morning at 8:00 and worked out plans. The SWAT team will be in place by noon. The road is blocked in case they try to leave.”
She sat two 8-by-10-inch pictures on top of the map. “Here are a couple of photos the Coast Guard shot this morning. There are three outbuildings that we will use for cover. As soon as the operation is complete, I’ll call you.”
“You got me up to tell me you’ll give me a call?”
“If I hadn’t run the plans by you, you’d never have forgiven me. But in your condition… ”
“Condition, hell.”
“Ray, don’t you think it would be better if… ”
“I’m going to ride along,” he responded, doing a foot-andcrutches dance toward the closet. “Get me that jacket, please.”
Sue was going to protest, but could tell it was futile. She pulled a dark-blue winter uniform jacket off the hanger and reached back in for a bulletproof vest.
“I won’t need that,” said Ray, motioning toward the vest.
“Put it on,” said Sue, “or I won’t give you a jacket.” She waited as he struggled with the vest, then pulled a shoulder holster and handgun and radio off the top shelf. With her help he got the holster on and then the jacket. He turned the radio on and did a battery check. Sue guided him to her Jeep, pushed the passenger seat back to the end of its track, and carefully helped Ray in.
They rode in silence most of the way. Finally Ray said, “Feels like it’s blowing.”
Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour Page 24
