“Ken heard Eileen slam out and watched her drive off. That’s the last he saw of her. Karin left a little while later.
“And that skimmer? I described it to Ken. He was told it was a card cleaner. Didn’t think much about it. As far as he knew, Bud would set it by the cash register on karaoke night and badger the girl tending bar if she forgot to use it.”
“I need to get your friend in here,” said Lew. “I guess he’ll be surprised to find out you’re a deputy, huh?”
“No,” said Ray. “When he was halfway into telling me all this, I figured he better know. I also told him to get his butt out of town.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He was already on his way. When I ran into him at the bar, he was only there because he was saying good-bye to a couple of the girls. He gave me his new phone number, Chief. He starts a new job at a hospital in Minneapolis. They’re doing ACL transplants and offered him double what he’s been making for Dave and Karin.”
“I hope he knows not to say anything to anyone who might alert Bud or Karin—”
“Can’t imagine he would. Not only is he leaving town today, but he said Bud hasn’t been working the club the last few days—hasn’t been around at all.”
“Ray, you done good,” said Lew. “I’ll put in for double time for you. Be sure to make out an expense report for your gas and all the beverages.”
“Thanks, Chief, but one more thing I want to mention. It’s about Dave Theurian.” Ray leaned back in the chair, a look of regret on his face.
“That guy’s not interested in my lure. We had our get- together over at the Pub, and I could tell he wasn’t paying attention the way he should have.”
The room was quiet as Ray spoke. “You know what he really wanted this morning? He wants me to introduce him to Joe Terzinski and Mark Stiles. I could see why after Ken explained that Theurian Resources’ cement isn’t exactly what you want to use in a sidewalk. Then it made sense. Grief counseling? Baloney.”
“We were planning to give you the details this afternoon,” said Gina.
“So everyone here knows?” Ray looked at Osborne, who nodded.
“Who are the two men you just mentioned, Ray?” said Gina.
“Joe owns the funeral home used by the Catholics around town, and Mark is the manager for St. Mary’s Cemetery—the guy who hires me to run the backhoe.” Ray gave a rueful grimace. “Never thought my sideline as a gravedigger could make me so attractive.”
“Not a gravedigger—a cemeterian,” said Gina. “We gotta upgrade your title, Ray. Who knows, the tissue trade could change your life.”
Ray waggled a finger at her and broke into a half smile. “Yeah, well, the only cheeks I plan to fillet are the ones I find on walleyes.”
“Ray, that is so gross!” said Gina, slamming the papers in her hand on Lew’s desk. “That is a totally inappropriate remark.”
“Honestly, Ray,” said Lew. But she caught Osborne’s eye to share a look of relief: inappropriate for sure, but good to have Ray back to his old self.
“One question, Ray,” said Osborne. “You said you and this Japanese fellow bonded over bluegills. What the heck was that all about?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you, he hates those fish. To hear Ken talk, it’s a criminal situation in Japan.
“Years ago Mayor Daley of Chicago visited Tokyo and as a thank-you he sent Emperor Akihito some bluegills to put in the Ushigafuchi Moat at the Imperial Palace. The moat was famous for its seventeen native species and now they put in the bluegills, okay? Over time, those bluegills have eaten every one of the native fish. When Ken calls our beautiful bluegills ‘marauding foreign invaders,’ he’s not kidding.
“Yep,?l’ Ken was in the mood to chat. All it took was one bluegill to get that dude started.”
Gina unhooked her computer. “I think I’ve covered the bases for you, Lewellyn,” she said as she shoved her laptop into its case. “I have a call in to that Kansas City Star reporter who wrote the feature story on the Theurians. He has my number and the number at Ray’s place, so if I hear anything critical I’ll give you a call. But he could be taking the week off.”
“What’s that?” asked Ray.
Gina waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve got more to tell you that’ll make you just as happy you aren’t in business with that man. Chief, do you mind if I corral Ray to take me fishing in the morning?”
“Heck no,” said Lew. “Please, do that. You both deserve a break.”
“Are you sure, Chief?” asked Ray. “I’m still trying to locate Clyde’s family.”
“If I need you, I’ll call. Now get out of here—both of you!”
“What about you, Lewellyn?” said Osborne, pulling on his parka. “You need a break. Can I at least buy you a burger over at the Pub? Mallory is having dinner with friends, so I’m baching it…”
“I can’t, Doc, I have paperwork up the wazoo. I need a warrant to search Thunder Bay and more paperwork to persuade my colleagues up in Hurley to search the Cat House. I have to find Arne Steadman—this situation with Bud is driving me nuts.
“But if I can take a rain check,” she walked towards him as she spoke, “you are invited to my place for New Year’s Eve.”
“Just me?”
“Just you.” She reached up and he reached down.
So the wind didn’t seem too cold as he bounded out to his car, frisky as a sixteen-year-old. Plus he had plans for breakfast. Ray’s last words as he held the door for Gina were to invite his neighbor down for a classic ice-fishing breakfast: wild rice pancakes, local maple syrup, and sautéed walleye.
thirty-four
The fish are either in the shallows, or the deep water, or someplace in between.
—Anonymous
The long-forecast snow started during the night. Six inches of the white stuff forced Osborne to put all his weight against his back door in order to open it far enough to let the dog out. And it was good snow—not too heavy, not too light—ideal for cross-country skiers and snowmobile trails. It was the kind of snow that smelled like money to the Loon Lake Chamber of Commerce.
A hollow howl of wind tossed the tops of the Norway pines lining the lane down to Ray’s, and a scrim of falling snow obscured the lights in the trailer windows. Osborne loved days like this.
He’d awakened with a plan: breakfast with Ray and Gina, then a quick trip to town for coffee with his pals at McDonald’s. On to Lew’s office to deliver her Christmas gift, then back to his own cozy living room. Once home, he would set the fly-tying vise on a card table in front of the fireplace and tackle the damn pink squirrel.
Lauren had called shortly after midnight, reaching Nick who was just falling asleep. She kept breaking down in tears as she whispered that even with her door closed, she could hear her father and stepmother screaming at each other. Nick did his best to calm her down, then called Ray.
“She’s one jumpy kid,” said Ray, standing at the stove in his long underwear. He was lifting and turning one slice of bacon after another, the gas as always on low. Ray was a firm believer in slow cooking. Too slow sometimes, but just right this morning.
“Can you blame her?” said Osborne, sipping his coffee from where he sat at Ray’s kitchen table. It might be blowing snow and twenty-three degrees outdoors, but inside the trailer was cozy. Glancing into Ray’s living room, he saw a suitcase open in one corner but no other evidence of Gina sleeping on the sofa. Not that it was any of his business.
“Nick wasn’t sure if I should call her back or not. I tried—but no answer. Nick said he would keep trying until he could reach her. If not, he’d call back. I didn’t get any more calls, so things must have settled down.”
“Knowing what I know now about her father, I worry about that girl,” said Osborne. He had filled Ray in with all the details from Maddie Wallace.
“Yep,” said Ray. “On the other hand, because so many friends of the family suspect Dave of having a hand in his wife’s death, don’t you think he would be doubly
careful to see that nothing happens to his daughter?”
“You’re right about that. He’d be in the hoosegow so fast.”
Gina came walking down the hall in a pair of bright red sweatpants and a matching turtleneck, her head down as she rubbed at her hair with a towel.
“Where’s my coffee, guys?” She plopped into the chair beside Osborne and inhaled deeply. “Life doesn’t get much better than this, doncha know.”
“That’s my line,” said Ray.
“You better believe it,” said Gina.
The phone on the wall near the stove rang. Ray cradled it between his ear and his right shoulder as he lifted crispy strips of bacon from the pan and laid each carefully onto a paper towel.
“Uh-huh,” he said, turning off the gas under the front burner. “Yep, where is she? When she calls back, you tell her to stay right where she is until she sees Doc’s car in the driveway … no, we can’t take the time, Nick. I’ll call you when we get there.”
Wiping his hands with a towel, Ray turned around to face Osborne and Gina. “Lauren just called Nick on her cell phone—she thinks her father is dead. She heard noises in the driveway, looked out her bedroom window, and saw her stepmother and the boyfriend carrying his body. Just now.”
“Where is she?” asked Osborne, jumping to his feet.
“Holy shit,” said Gina, rushing into the living room and grabbing clothes from her suitcase.
“She’s locked herself in her bedroom. They don’t know she saw them.”
The phone rang again. Ray listened, said “Okay,” and hung up. “They just left in one of the big cars—but without the body.”
While Ray and Gina scrambled to pull clothes on, Osborne reached Lew at home. It wasn’t even six-thirty yet.
“I’ll meet you at the fire number in front of Theurian’s drive,” she said. “I have to call the sheriff’s office. Theurian’s property is outside my jurisdiction. He may want to go in with us. Call Nick back and give him the emergency number. Tell him to keep us updated if he hears more from Lauren. I’ll alert Maureen to patch him through to my radio or the cell phone.”
The two cars, Doc’s and Lew’s cruiser, fishtailed and skidded their way up Theurian’s drive and around to the back of the house. Ice was building under the snow, making it difficult to maintain traction. Since the last call from Lauren indicated she was still alone in the house, Osborne pulled his car off to the right, alongside the garage. Lew’s cruiser hit ice as she stopped in front of the stairs leading up to the deck, her left front fender nearly taking out the railing.
The county sheriff had given Lew the okay to go in without him. He and his deputies were working a three- car, four-fatality pileup caused by a jackknifed semitrailer. The accident had closed Highway 17 south of Rhinelander, and traffic was backing up.
“You need me to uncase the shotguns?” asked Gina from the backseat.
“I don’t,” said Osborne. Driving in, he had noted no new tire tracks in the snow, so he felt confident only Lauren was inside. He hated carrying guns around people.
“What about you, Ray?”
“Yeah.” Ray reached for his gun as he got out of the front passenger seat.
“Back me up, Ray,” said Lew, dashing up the stairs, her SIG-Sauer drawn. Ray followed, twelve gauge ready. Osborne and Gina stayed by his car, crouched low behind the passenger door.
As Lew knocked, Ray shouted, “Lauren—it’s Ray, we’re here. Open up.” They waited. Lew knocked again. Again Ray shouted.
Still no answer. Osborne backed off towards the garage. He tried the knob on the door and pushed it open to peer inside.
“Lew, both Hummers are gone,” he called. The snow was so heavy he could barely see her standing on the deck.
At that moment, Lauren threw open the door. “Hurry,” she cried. “My dad’s downstairs but the door is locked. I’ve been trying and trying …” She burst into tears as Osborne and Gina ran up the stairs to the back foyer.
Ray was already pulling at the drawer where he knew Theurian kept the keys, but it was locked. “Lauren, what about the key to your bedroom?”
“On my dresser—”
“Go get it—we’ll meet you downstairs.”
Lauren ran down the hall towards her room, as the rest of them crossed through the main hall past the darkened living room and down the stairs, stopping at the door to the room where Mitten said they processed their berries and butchered their deer.
They waited for Lauren. She came rushing down the stairs, the key in her hand. Ray grabbed it.
“They had this big fight last night, see—”
“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Lew, keeping an eye on what Ray was doing. Sitting on the stairs, he held the key against his left knee. In his right hand was the file he kept in the pocket of his parka for filing down fishhooks. Twice he swiped at the key, then tried it in the door. No luck.
“My dad and Mitten. She started it. All of a sudden screaming at him to stay out of her business. I heard like a slap, then he said she was doing her best to ruin his operation—that anything she did reflected on him.
“They just kept at each other. It was so awful. That’s when I called Nick. I kept thinking, I should break into their room and tell my Dad what she’s been doing—but Nick kept saying that was a really bad idea.”
“Which it was; you would not have helped. You could have been hurt, too. So then what?”
Again Ray tried the key in the door.
“Then this morning …”
“Ray, what is it you’re doing with that key?” asked Gina in a low voice. “Why don’t you just blow a hole in the damn door.”
“Give him two more seconds,” said Lew. “He’ll get it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ray’s first misdemeanor,” said Lew, raising her eyebrows slightly. “When he was in high school, he managed to find a key to the boy’s gym and turn it into a master key that unlocked every door in the school—perpetrated mischief for months before he got caught.”
“Any kid who takes shop knows the secret,” said Ray, as he gave another careful swipe with the file. “If there’s a master key to a building, all you need is one of the other keys and a file and you’ll find your way in.
“Okay, let’s try again,” he said. This time the door opened. Lew was the first to enter, though slowly. Dim light through the sliding glass doors gleamed off the two steel tables in the center of the room. The room was empty. Even the counters were bare.
“Footprints,” said Lew, pointing at puddles of grit and water on the ceramic tiles. “Someone’s been here but—”
At the sound of tires crunching in the driveway, everyone turned to look towards the windows. “That’ll be the sheriff,” said Lew.
“I’ll go meet him, show him where we are,” said Gina, running up the stairs. She was back in less than a minute with an odd expression on her face. Before she could say anything, Dave Theurian walked into the room, amazement on his face.
“Daddy! But I thought—” Lauren burst into tears and flung herself at her father.
“Hey, hey, Lauren, take it easy.” Theurian looked over the head of his sobbing daughter. “What are you people doing here?”
“Chief Ferris, Loon Lake Police. We met the other night,” said Lew, stepping forward. “What are you doing here? Your daughter reported you missing.”
“Missing? For heaven’s sake, Lauren, I had business appointments in Madison starting at noon but the roads are so bad, I turned back at Stevens Point. Lauren …” Theurian grasped his daughter by the shoulders, pushing her away until he could see her face. “I know I told you I would be gone overnight.”
“Yes, Dad, you did but—” Lauren threw her hands up. “Oh, Daddy, I was so scared …” Theurian pulled her close as she shuddered, sobbing, into his shoulder.
thirty-five
Of course, folk fish for different reasons. There are enough aspects of angling to satisfy the aspirations of people remarkably unal
ike.
—Maurice Wiggin
“Theurian Resources is highly technical in its methods and our product line is considered quite innovative within the health care field,” Theurian was saying. “We are fully vested with all the proper licensure.”
They were sitting around a table that doubled as his desk in the spacious room that Theurian referred to as “the lab” and that took up half the warehouse. Ray and Lauren were at the main house. Lauren was calling to assure Nick she was okay, while Ray, at Lew’s request, was alerting the sheriff’s office to the false alarm.
It was Gina’s prodding about his company’s role as a tissue processor that had prompted Theurian to invite Lew, Osborne, and Gina into the warehouse for a quick tour of his operation.
“Let’s dispel any negative connotations right off the bat,” he’d said as they walked across the driveway through the blowing snow. “Boy, am I happy I turned back. We must be getting an inch an hour.”
But if he was good at reading snow, the man was a failure with bright women. Theurian made no effort to hide the fact that it required his level best to explain the complicated science behind his company to the chief of the Loon Lake Police and Gina Palmer. No matter that Gina had been introduced as a ‘technical services deputy,’ he answered her questions as if she had just graduated from a voc-ed school.
Describing his company in words so simple they bordered on condescension, he didn’t improve matters by bracketing various remarks with—”And you understand, of course, Dr. Osborne”—his tone implying that only a medical professional like himself or Osborne could hope to grasp such sophisticated concepts. Each time he said it, Gina winked at Lew.
Osborne sat quietly, as the man talked at the two women. It was like watching a fly fisherman cast a dry fly so poorly that it presented with a splash loud enough to hasten the good humor of a lurking trout.
And when Theurian had completed “Class 101 in Tissue Processing,” it was Gina’s turn to grill: Where did he find trained staff? Who were his suppliers? Who inspected the operation and how frequently? What were the most common complaints received from purchasing hospitals?
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