“I downloaded his Blackberry—”
“Yeah, Bruce was wrong by the way,” said Lew. “He told me this was a Palm Pilot but it’s not.”
“O-o-h, Mr. Answer Man was incorrect? How could that be?” asked Osborne, borrowing Ray’s nickname for a type of client, always male, and always the expert on everything.
“I’m sure he meant to say it was a ‘palmtop,”‘ said Gina. “This model looks a lot like one of the newer Palms.”
“You’re being kind,” said Lew. She gave Osborne a look: She was ready for Bruce to make a mistake.
“We’re lucky the poor guy was smart enough to know he had to keep his battery at a decent temperature—he had that thing wrapped so tight to keep it from freezing that it prevented any water damage. It’s working great.
“And it’s a recent model, the 6710, with a neat feature: It lists all his communications, phone calls, e-mails, and so on—in the same box. Here’s what it’s told us so far … the guy was a sales rep for a paper products company, and he’s on the road quite a bit.”
“Which I know from talking to his family,” said Lew. “But not much more than that. Marlene is checking recent phone calls.”
Gina’s fingers moved over the keys. “We’ve got his appointments for sales calls, client phone numbers, personal numbers, memos on his sales calls, but the big news is the last e-mail in his inbox. Take a look, Doc.”
Gina sat back so Osborne could see what she had on the screen. “It’s a copy of an e-mail he received from a friend—who happens to be the other victim.”
She scrolled the text slowly for Osborne to read. “So they had plans to meet up at the Thunder Bay Bar … and … is that date the day they disappeared?” asked Osborne.
“Looks like it,” said Lew. “Keep reading.”
“These are directions from Thunder Bay—but to where?” asked Osborne. He tried visualizing the path of the written directions, but it wasn’t making sense. “Got an atlas, Lew? Let’s check this route on the map.”
“We think from the tone of the e-mail they were going to a party” said Gina. “The other victim was single, and he sounds excited about a plan to meet some women at a location they’re going to by snowmobile.”
“I understand that,” said Osborne. “These are the trail signs to watch for. But what is odd is here where they are supposed to turn at a landmark and travel down to another trail sign.”
“What’s odd about that?” asked Gina.
“Why not turn at another trail sign?” said Osborne. “Turning at this boulder and a fork in the trail. I don’t know. Maybe it makes sense when you see it.”
“Something else,” said Gina. “That may be the last entry, but it is not the last time someone accessed it. Someone looked at this yesterday. Your man Bruce?”
“I’m sure,” said Lew. “I told him to leave it alone. Takes orders, huh.”
“He just wants to know everything you know, Lew,” said Osborne, secretly pleased. The way things were going, nosey-rosy Bruce was nosing his way right out of a fly fishing lesson.
“Question,” said Gina, raising a forefinger. “Where’s the other guy’s palmtop? It’s likely he had one to send this, and I’m guessing he copied those directions from another e-mail. Be nice to find out who e-mailed him.”
“Nothing like that on the other victim,” said Lew. “We looked through everything in the cabin he rented over on Lake Tomahawk, too. No sign of anything like this.”
“Oh, so they weren’t staying together?” asked Gina.
“No, the owner of this Blackberry was staying with other friends outside Rhinelander—and got in late from sales calls in Wausau, which is why they made plans to meet at Thunder Bay.”
“Gina, is there a way to find out how many snowmobile riders have accidents on the trail versus off?” asked Osborne.
“Do you need an exact figure, or are you looking for a percentage? Because if a percentage is all you need, I know a quick way to do that. I’ll do a random check of the accident reports of small, medium, and large papers in the state. I’ll see what we get.”
“We have seventeen snowmobile fatalities this year—statewide,” said Lew. While they were talking, she had walked over to her desk and placed a phone call. “Is that what you’re asking?”
Before Osborne could answer, she covered the mouthpiece. “Doc, do you have the time to check out those directions with me? I can have Roger deliver our department snowmobiles to a trailhead out there.”
“As long as I’m home by five,” said Osborne. “And, don’t forget. Lewelleyn—you’re expected for Christmas Eve dinner. You, too, Gina. Ray knows. He’s bringing his famous pickled northern.”
Lew hung up and walked around her desk. “Forget it. With this cloud cover, by the time Roger gets those snowmobiles out there, it’ll be pitch black. How about first thing in the morning?”
“Christmas?!” said Osborne. “Lew, aren’t you taking any time off?”
“Well … what are you doing?”
“Opening presents with Mallory and Erin’s family at Erin’s. She’s planning Christmas brunch. I guess I’m free after that.”
“Great, Doc. You have breakfast with your family, then meet me here. We’ll be on the trails by noon when the sun is high.”
“On one condition, Lewellyn—you have to show up tonight.”
“I will, I will—I promise.”
“I used to be Snow White but I drifted,” said a deep voice from the doorway.
“Ray Pradt, you old thief you!” Gina spun on her stool, nearly knocking Osborne over. “That’s a Mae West line.”
“No-o-o … how do you know that?” asked Ray, a hurt look on his face as he lumbered into the room.
“Everybody knows that, you jerk,” said Gina.
“It may be a Mae West line, but when it comes to Ray, it’s accurate,” said Lew. “He has indeed drifted. Care to see the file?”
twenty-one
There is no substitute for fishing sense, and if a man doesn’t have it, verily, he may cast like an angel and still use his creel largely to transport sandwiches and beer.
—Robert Traver, Trout Madness
“You look amazingly civilized this morning,” said Lew as Ray pulled one of the armchairs away from the wall, unzipped his jacket, and, like an accordion closing, folded his way down into the chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Not an iota,” said Ray, sliding back in the chair, extending his legs and crossing his ankles. “Life is lovely.”
Ray was lovely. Osborne hadn’t seen his neighbor look so spiffy in months. Was it the anticipation of meeting Lauren’s father or Gina’s arrival that booted him out of the smelly parka and into the trim charcoal gray Gore-Tex jacket?
“Lew’s right—you look downright sartorial today,” said Osborne. Under the jacket, Ray wore gray tweed Filson pants and a matching wool sweater. The rolled collar of a cream turtleneck completed the effect. “New boots, beard trimmed, hair tamed—jeez, Ray, if I didn’t know better, I could mistake you for somebody with a full-time job.”
“Or a funeral director,” snorted Lew.
“Stop the torture, you guys. He’s just trying to impress me,” said Gina, beaming at Ray from her perch on the stool. “Hey, so I get to stay at your place, right?”
“You are more welcome than the flowers.”
“Ray, when you finish with the charm, we need to talk,” said Lew, walking over to close the door to her office. She jerked her head towards the chair in front of her desk, next to the one where Osborne was sitting. “Have you been out to Thunder Bay?”
“Just now, Chief. That’s why I came in.”
Ray finished smiling at Gina, then pulled all six feet five inches up and over to the chair near Lew. “I was able to talk to two of the women who work there, Laura Donaghue and Michelle Roderick. Laura tends bar, Michelle dances. Neither one knew much. Apparently Eileen was pleasant enough but kept to herself. She lived up in Iron- wood and would drive down Wednesda
ys with this young Japanese-American fellow who runs their karaoke night.
“The two would stay overnight at the Comfort Inn, and the next morning Eileen would collect the week’s receipts, take care of some ordering, then leave.”
“So she was around only those two days,” said Lew.
“Correct. But Laura told me something interesting. She said that over the last six months, she’s had about four different patrons complain that their credit card numbers had been stolen—and they accused her of having something to do with it.
“She said it was pretty upsetting and she thought she was going to be arrested—so she confronted Eileen.”
“Wait, wait, Thunder Bay—that’s the strip joint, isn’t it?” said Gina from the other end of the room. “Why on earth would you use a credit card out there?”
“They serve pizza and burgers,” said Ray. “A group of guys come in after hunting or fishing and, with beers, they can run up a good-sized bill. I’ve had clients in there a number of occasions and a lot of those guys don’t carry cash, everything they do is on a card. Something to do with frequent flier miles.”
“So she brought this up with Eileen and—” Lew urged him along.
“Eileen was surprised. She told Laura not to worry—that she would check it out.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Last time she was down—two weeks ago. Oh, and I asked Laura if Eileen had ever danced there. She kind of laughed when I asked that. She said Eileen was furious with the owners and made no bones she was looking for another job. She thought she had a handshake deal to dance for fifteen hundred a week plus tips, only to have Karin renege and tell her five hundred with tips going to the house.”
“That’s nasty,” said Lew. “What about Karin—I take it she wasn’t there?”
“She’s never there. Neither Laura nor Michelle has ever even seen her.”
“What did Michelle have to say?”
“She’s new, only been dancing there a month, and she was hired by phone, so she’s never met Karin. All she could add was that she had noticed Eileen but never talked to her.”
“And the manager?”
“The manager quit right after Karin took over, and no one has been hired to replace him. Whoever tends bar has been keeping time sheets and getting marching orders from Eileen. Up until last week, Eileen would call every night to see who hadn’t shown up. This is not a ritzy operation—two bartenders and one dancer weekdays, two dancers on the weekends.”
“What about skimming?” asked Lew. “How does our absentee owner deal with that problem?”
“Excellent point,” said Ray, raising an index finger. “I wondered the same thing. A little difficult to believe they would pick the receipts up just once a week like that. Turns out there’s a bouncer who keeps a very close eye on the cash drawer and the bartenders—”
A sudden knock on the door interrupted Ray mid-sentence. Osborne turned to a chubby face wearing lavender glasses.
“Chief, finally found that résumé. Here ‘tis,” said Bud, striding across the room with a jovial look on his face. He held a sheet of paper in one hand. Osborne thought of Phil’s extensive curriculum vitae. What a travesty this was. He shook his head.
“Did you ask Marlene to let me know you were here?” asked Lew, her voice sharp.
“Hell, no, she had a call on the switchboard—I just came on back.”
“Well … Bud,” Lew stressed his name as she stood up to take the piece of paper from his hand, “when that door is closed, it means I’m in a meeting. Next time, please ask Marlene to page me and see if I can be interrupted.”
“Oh? Gee, sorry if I threw you for a curve. Say, ah, Gramps asked me to pick up the reports on those two dead guys.” Bud nudged his lavender glasses up the bridge of his nose, waiting.
Lew stared at him. “Arne wants those reports?”
“Yeah … that’s what he said.” Bud sounded a little uncertain.
“We won’t have those for weeks, Bud,” said Lew. “The toxicology tests will take two weeks at the very least.”
“But we thought that—”
“Tell your grandfather that since you are not a pathologist, the official autopsy is being handled by Wausau. Quite a few of those folks are on holiday break, so the reports may be a little late.
“Just to flush it out for you, Bud,” Lew’s voice stayed even, “a licensed medical examiner has to sign off on the autopsy results—it’s the law. By the way, I’m expecting you can be reached if we have any accidents over the holiday. You’re responsible for any photos I may need. And I’m assuming you plan to be here the day after Christmas so we can go over a few things—get you set up in Pecore’s old office.”
“Sure thing. Gramps suggested I volunteer to help out with some of your police work, too. Maybe help cut down on the money you spend on deputies, he said.”
“I hear you,” said Lew. “We’ll talk about that. Okay, all set?” She folded her arms and gave him a tight smile. Bud backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Lew hurried over to be sure it was closed.
Turning around, she leaned against the door, her arms behind her, and said, “In the two years that he’s been mayor, Arne has never asked to see a report of any kind … never.”
As Lew walked back to her desk, Gina piped up, “What’s all this flushing business?”
“It’s a long story,” said Lew, rubbing her forehead as if she were trying to erase a migraine. “Hardly worth getting into. I really don’t expect that kid to last a month. When Arne gets the bill from the Wausau boys …”
“Can I see that résumé of his?” It was a rhetorical question—Gina was already at the desk, grabbing Bud’s résumé. She gave it a quick scan as she walked back to her perch at the table. “I’m a whiz at background checks. Let’s see if I can’t put another nail in the old coffin.”
“Be my guest,” said Lew. She turned to Ray and Osborne. “Now where were we?”
“Let’s show Ray that e-mail with the directions,” said Osborne. “See if he knows the trails they’re talking about.”
Ray studied the printout. “Yeah, I know this area. This is right close to Clyde’s place, Doc. Isn’t that where you said you got your tree yesterday?”
“Yes, and I’ve been bird hunting in there, too. But I’ve never gotten far enough in to hit one of the trails.”
“I know the area somewhat,” said Lew. “There’s a spring pond back in there where I used to fish brookies. Haven’t fished it in years though.”
“Here’s what puzzles me, Ray,” said Osborne. “Most of that land is swamp. I can’t imagine two young guys going to a party back in there. No cabins. And see where they mention a fork in the trail with a boulder as a landmark? Why turn there, why not at a trail sign?”
“Well, there’s a trail marker farther down from the turn, according to this.” Ray looked up. “These directions don’t give you distance. Since I haven’t been back in there on a snowmobile in a couple years, I can’t tell you what’s where without eyeballing it. You know, Doc, the clubs mark the trails, not the county or the forestry service. Some areas are just poorly marked.”
“I checked the plat book in the county clerk’s office this morning—no new fire numbers,” said Lew.
“Yeah, well, think about it,” said Ray. “Clyde’s been living back in there for how many years, and he’s never had a fire number.”
“That’s a fact,” said Lew. “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Well, that takes care of that. I have to check this out from the trail. Doc and I are going in tomorrow.”
“Well—” Ray looked over at Gina, “let’s do it together. I’ll bring Gina on the back of my machine. Maybe stop over at Clyde’s. If anyone knows that land back there, it’s the old man.”
“Suits me,” said Lew. “By the way,” she added as she held a photo out towards Ray, “this is the snowmobiler who’s reported missing by my Tomahawk colleagues. Since he was last seen at Thunder Bay
—stayed to have one more after his buddies left—I’m supposed to find him.
“Roger said he covered all the trails under our jurisdiction yesterday and found nothing. No stalled-out machines, no signs of bad ice, nothing. Ray, does that face look familiar to you?”
“Nope. He can’t be a local, or I think I’d know him.”
“From Milwaukee—has a cottage on Lake Nokomis.”
“So no connection to the other two victims?”
“None whatsoever. This man’s friends have never heard of the victims.”
“Chief,” said Gina, from where she was sitting on her stool studying the page from Bud. “Interesting little item here—your new coroner did his internship at a funeral home in Rice Lake where they had a double murder last spring. The owner and his son were shot and killed by an intruder.”
“How do you know that?” asked Lew.
“I saw it on the Associated Press newswire down in Chicago,” said Gina. “While you were talking, I went online to be sure my memory serves me right. It’s the same place.
“Our paper was doing an investigative series on the funeral industry. My special projects team worked on some of the stories. We covered Illinois and Wisconsin because there was a spike in consumer complaints on both sides of the state line. The reason I remember this name and location is because the murders occurred just before one of our reporters was due to interview the owner.
“I can pull the series sometime in the next day or two—should be able to find that particular story. Oh, and I see he lists his uncle as a reference … and the uncle runs a funeral home?”
“In Armstrong Creek,” said Lew.
“May as well check that out, too,” said Gina. “You won’t believe the abuses we found when we did the series. Too much money to be made and very little oversight, especially when it comes to harvesting allograft tissue. And you have some major players here in Wisconsin.”
Lew sat back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “That’s exactly what Bud talked about in the meeting yesterday—allograft tissue.”
Dead Hot Mama Page 13
