“Do you recall who she dated?”
“She went out with a couple of guys from here, Jim Kryjack and Ron Chevsky, and she had a few dates with other guys on campus, nothing serious.”
“How about you?”
“How about me what?” she asked, smiling at him.
“Dating. Do you have a steady boyfriend?”
“No. No steady boyfriend. I’m focused on school.”
“Anything else you can think of that I need to know about Gemma?”
“Nothing. Everyone who knew her liked her.”
“Where were you Tuesday, November twenty-fifth, that year?”
“That’s easy,” she said, slouching further down in the chair. “I was up in Bessemer, Michigan, skiing with my family. It’s tradition. We always go up Thanksgiving week.”
“What can you tell me about Terry Foltz?”
“I’ve known her since we were kids,” she said, her eyes teary. “Our parents know each other through the mills. We became good friends when we both ended up going to school in Madison.”
“What did you have in common?”
“Pretty much the same as Gemma: books, movies, music, hanging out,” she said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
“Do you know anyone who had a reason to hurt Terry?”
“I can’t think of a soul.” She sat up in the chair, shaking her head.
“Did you know any of Terry’s boyfriends?”
“No,” she said, pulling her headband off and running her hands through her hair. “She dated a little, but I don’t think there was anyone special.”
“Where were you last weekend?”
“Skiing in Bessemer with my family.” She replaced her headband. “I got up there late Friday evening.”
“Anything else you can tell me about Terry?”
“Not a thing,” she said, shaking her head and fiddling with her headband.
Katey left and Matt was ushered in. As he’d told them earlier, he knew next to nothing about Gemma and Terry. He’d met Terry several times at family gatherings, but he was three years older than Terry and Katey; just enough, he said, to make the girls giggling teenage pests when they were younger. He was far enough ahead of them in school that they rarely crossed paths on campus. On the downhill stretch for his Ph.D. in biology, he was totally focused on his goal of being hired to teach at one of the universities in the Midwest.
Matt recalled seeing Gemma only twice when she spent the weekend at his house. He, too, had been in Bessemer skiing when both girls were killed. He assured Lark that several family friends and ski resort employees would verify his presence as well as Katey’s, and most of the Lowery clan for both time periods.
The Lowerys were on their way by 2:30. Lark and George sat down to organize their notes. They constructed a table on the marker board in the interview room to keep everyone’s whereabouts straight. The only people in Big Oak for both murders were Jim Kryjack, the last person Lark suspected, and Ron Chevsky, the person most easy to suspect.
SUNDAY EVENING
NOVEMBER 26—SWENSON
Lark made copies of his notes so he could review them with Lacey. He left the station at 3:30 and stopped at the store to pick up some groceries and two more movies. Both were videos that Lacey had mentioned she wanted to see. As he headed out of town, he passed Tetzloff’s and remembered he was supposed to get back to Tom about the two cars that had been towed there.
As luck would have it, Tom was in the garage unloading a car with the front end smashed in. “Yet another drunken FIB providing business for us poor folk up here in the northwoods,” he joked.
Lark ignored him and asked what was happening with the Taurus from Lippert Motors.
“They don’t seem to be in any hurry to pick it up. If they don’t show up soon, I may take it over, or I might ask Sara Waltner if she or one of her kids wants to run it over.”
“Sara Waltner? Why would you ask her?” Lark asked.
“Sara was a Lippert before she married Steve. Everybody around here knows that,” he said, wiping his hands on the legs of his grimy overalls.
“Well, I’ll be dammed,” Lark muttered under his breath.
“Had another stolen car from Lippert’s turn up here a few years ago. If you ask me, it’s one of them Waltner kids joy-riding.”
“Do you remember when that was?” Lark asked
“Nope. I can have Edith check the books. Now, about the Ransons’ Explorer.” He walked to the other side of the garage where it was up on a rack. “There’s something kind of peculiar here. I pulled the tire off and noticed that it had a big hole in each side. Doesn’t look like a blowout, looks more like something went through it.” He showed Lark the tire.
“What could have done that?” Lark asked, a feeling of dread forming in his gut.
“Look under here,” Tom said, motioning him under the Explorer to look at a hole in the lower portion of the side panel.
“What caused that?” Lark asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.
“From the way the metal is punctured from the inside out, I think it was a bullet. It blew through the tire and the side of the truck, causing this hole. Must have been a drunken hunter. She was one lucky woman not to get herself killed.”
“You really think it was a bullet?”
“Sure as sure can be,” Tom said, running his blackened fingers back and forth through the hole. “Those hunters are a bunch of crazy fuckers. I give it up years ago. I got my trophy buck and quit. Never did much like the taste of venison. What the hell do you want me to do with this car? John and his insurance adjuster were in here today wanting to have it repaired. I told them I couldn’t do nothing with it till you give permission.”
Lark shook himself out of his reverie. “I’ll send someone over to photograph the tire and the side panel and you can release the car to John tomorrow. Hang on to the Lippert vehicle.”
Lark drove home deep in thought. He pulled the county Explorer into the garage and noted that his Jeep hadn’t moved. The clock on the dashboard glowed 4:30 and he wondered where the day had gone.
He walked into a dark house. He was pleased, thinking that Lacey had taken his advice and gotten some rest. When he went upstairs to change clothes, he was startled to find her under his quilt, sound asleep. A nightgown and robe were draped over the chair.
Not knowing what to do, he wandered into the bathroom to think. He was saved from having to make a decision when he heard a muddled, “Holy shit.” Concerned that something was wrong, he went back into the bedroom and found her lurching like a drunk as she clutched the quilt around her and tried to sit up.
He eased her up into a sitting position.
“What time is it?” she asked, struggling to get her eyes focused.
“Almost five. Have you slept all day?”
“I think so. I made the mistake of getting in your whirlpool after taking two pain pills. It knocked me for a loop.”
He sat down on the bed and put his arm around her just as she started to list back down. “Are you OK?”
“I feel like I could sleep for another hundred years.” She extracted one of her arms from the quilt.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” He tightened his grip on her to keep her from falling over.
“Nature calls,” she said, lurching out of his grasp and scooting to the side of the bed.
“Let me help you,” he said, concerned when he saw how wobbly she was.
“Not on your life, buster, all I have on is this quilt.”
“This could be very interesting,” he said, doing a poor imitation of the Arte Johnson character from the old show Laugh-In.
“Good one, Lark. I’m black and blue, I’ve got cracked ribs and a busted lip. No question, I’m a real sex goddess.” She bent over and picked up her nightgown and robe. Pain shot through her and she groaned, thinking her chest might explode.
Constrained by the quilt, she hobbled into the bathroom. She leaned up against the
sink and watched in gratitude as Lark started the shower and laid out a towel and washcloth for her.
“A hot shower will help work out the cobwebs. If you’re still tired when you get out of the shower, go back to bed. When you’re hungry, let me know. I’ll fix you my very best comfort food.”
“What’s that?” she asked, interest piqued.
“Grilled cheese and soup, as long as it’s chicken noodle or tomato. But I could go out and get something else. It’s not comfort food unless you have your favorite soup.”
“Tomato’s my favorite,” she said, smiling even though it hurt her lip.
“Great. I’ll be ready when you are.” He started for the door. “Anything else you need before I leave?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“If you don’t get out of here, all the hot water will be gone.”
“I could help you wash your hair,” he teased, coaxing another smile out of her, “or I could wash your back.”
“In your dreams, pal.” She used her free hand to wave him away. “Get out of here.”
Laughing, he shut the door and headed downstairs. He marveled at how a little flirting had made his headache vanish.
Lacey steamed away her aches and pains, thinking about how she would have loved to have Lark wash her back, as well as more exciting things. “In my dreams,” she murmured into the shower spray.
In her nightgown and robe, her hair turbaned in a towel, she wandered downstairs a half hour later to find Lark on the phone. She poured herself a glass of milk and pulled a straw out of a box that lay on the counter with cans of soup and a loaf of bread. Lacey listened to Lark request one of his teams to post itself on the road outside the Ransons’ house. He demanded that the other team patrol the area whenever they weren’t out on a call. He ended the phone call and dialed again before she could ask him what was going on.
Her concern grew as he called his colleagues in the four surrounding counties and asked for their assistance in covering calls for the next twenty-four hours. The sheriffs obliged, knowing the circumstances he was in.
When he hung up, Lacey attempted to ask him what was going on but he waved her off and dialed Joel. He found him at home just starting dinner, and for once there was no small talk.
“Joel, I need help up here for the next few days. Can you send a team to keep Ann Ranson under surveillance?” Lark punched the speaker button so Lacey could hear.
“Are you telling me you think she did this?” Joel asked, shocked.
“No. I think someone thinks she knows something and may be trying to kill her.”
Lark glanced over at Lacey. “We thought she had a blowout on my road last night, but I just looked at the car. Her tire was shot out.”
“No shit,” Joel said. “Damn, are there snowmobile tracks at this scene as well?”
“Don’t know. We haven’t had time to look. I just found out about this an hour ago and I’m trying to put together protection for Ann. I’ll look for tracks first thing in the morning.”
“Your staff told me that you have most of the suspect interviews done,” Joel said. “Anyone stand out?”
“No,” Lark said, shaking his head as if Joel could see him. “Everyone has alibis. If they all check out, we’ve got no one left but Ron Chevsky and Jim Kryjack.”
“Kryjack’s your officer, isn’t he?”
“Yep, and I’d stake a paycheck it isn’t him,” Lacey interrupted.
Joel hooted into the phone. “That’s nice, honey, but we all know you’ve got that trust fund, so one paycheck isn’t saying much.”
“Eat shit, Joel. The kid didn’t do it.”
“You develop clairvoyance during your short stay in the northwoods?” Joel asked.
“I agree with her,” Lark said. “I’d put my money on Ron Chevsky, but he isn’t our snowmobiler. He’s been in jail or in Rhinelander for two out of the three shootings.”
“Maybe you’ve got yourself the mother of all rural crime sprees going on up there. One serial killer and one snowmobile sniper,” Joel said, chuckling.
“Very funny Joel, very, very funny,” Lark said, continuing to pace. “I also had an ugly thought that our murderer might be someone who comes up here for deer hunting season and could be from anywhere. But I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because both these girls have personal ties to Big Oak. They know a lot of the same people here. It’s got to be someone with connections to this area.”
Hearing the concern in Lark’s voice, Joel assured him that he and four officers would be over by noon on Monday. After taking the names the UW students had identified as alibis and promising to get them interviewed ASAP, Joel hung up.
Lark called the station, asking the dispatcher to fax a copy of George’s interview notes to Joel as soon as they were typed. Once again he stopped Lacey before she could ask a question and dialed the Ransons’ number. When no one answered, he left a message for John to call him as soon as he got in.
“Now we can talk,” he said, smiling at her.
“You really think someone’s trying to kill Ann?”
“I believe someone deliberately shot out her bedroom window when she was standing in front of it. I also think her tires were deliberately shot out. All this started after we found the two bodies on their property. But I can’t explain how that fits with my windows being shot out.”
“Me either,” she said, studying his face.
“Something isn’t right and it’s more than just drunken, accident-prone deer hunters. We’ve got the same type of boot prints, Marlboro cigarette butts, and snowmobile tracks leading to nowhere at two scenes. I bet we find the same thing out front,” he said, gesturing towards the road in front of his house.
As promised, Lark fixed them a dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. They ate watching the six o’clock news. John Ranson returned their call just as Lark finished the dishes. He was shocked when Lark told him about the car and grateful for the police guard. Lark and Lacey barely made it to the end of the second movie before stumbling to bed.
MONDAY MORNING
NOVEMBER 27—SWENSON
Lacey fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and did not wake up until her alarm went off. She sat up and groaned in pain as her ribs rebelled. She willed herself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. She glanced in the mirror and was gratified to see that most of the swelling was gone from her lip. She stood under the shower, and just as the hot water turned lukewarm, she felt her rib cage begin to loosen up.
Twenty minutes later she was sitting at the bar in the kitchen. Although she wasn’t hungry, she forced herself to eat some toast and drink a glass of orange juice while she waited for the coffee to brew. She turned around when she heard Lark trotting down the stairs.
“Feeling better?” he asked, pouring them both a cup of coffee.
“Yep.”
“Good thing,” Lark said, popping a couple slices of bread in the toaster. “I’d hate to think I suffered though a cold shower for nothing.”
“I’m sorry. That I didn’t even think about you this morning shows how whacked out I must be.”
“Didn’t you sleep well?” he asked with concern as he slathered his toast with grape jam.
“So well I don’t think I even moved.”
“It’s gonna be a long day. You sure you’re up to it?” He studied her lip as he sipped his coffee.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, guarding her side as she stood up. “Besides, if I sleep any more I’m in danger of turning into Rip Van Winkle.”
When Lark realized it was quarter after seven, they hustled out to the Jeep. After a quick stop at the station, they were on the road to Rhinelander. The weather, while disappointing, was consistent. Snow was pelting down. From the look of the roads, it had been snowing for quite a while. They passed a salt truck and then slowed down to get around a road grader pushing brown-tinted drifts of snow to the berm. A few miles down the road they passed a
convoy of dump trucks loaded with snow.
“At the rate we’re going, it won’t be melted by next winter,” Lark said as they passed the huge truck.
“Such an optimist,” she said as she answered the car phone.
It was Joel, who gave them an update from the University police. They had confirmed the alibis for Sandi and Michael Waltner and were faxing their reports to Big Oak and Wausau.
Lark and Lacey arrived at the clinic in Rhinelander on time and were ushered into a conference room. They warmed themselves with steaming mugs of sludgy coffee.
Ron arrived at 11:30, accompanied by a nurse who could double for Mrs. Claus. Santa’s wife turned out to be a very jolly Mrs. Krejewski, who offered to stay for the interview. Ron politely declined. Before she left, she patted him on the back to get his attention.
“What?” Ron asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. Lark and Lacey were surprised to see that he was smiling.
“You remember what your mama told you and you remember what we talked about.” Although she was smiling, her voice was as commanding as a four-star general.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You call me if you need anything.” She gestured at a black rotary phone without any numbers on it.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ron repeated.
“All you have to do is pick it up and I’ll be right in here.” She looked around the room, her cheerful glance taking each one of them in. She patted Ron on the shoulder again. “Now you behave and tell the truth.”
Everyone took their seats. Ron pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. “Do you mind?” he asked Lacey, gesturing with the crumpled pack.
“Not at all,” she said, marveling at the change in him.
Now that his hair was clean and neatly combed, Lacey could tell that it was a rich brown color. It even looked like it had been trimmed. His straggly mustache was gone and his teeth looked like they had been professionally cleaned. The sickly yellow, bloodshot look she’d previously seen in his eyes was gone. He wore a red plaid flannel shirt tucked into worn but clean blue jeans that hung down over his tennis shoes.
“How have you been?” Lark asked, watching him try to steady his hands so he could light up.
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